


The Book Boyfriend

by BeckyBubbles



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anne Shirley in Denial, Anne and Gilbert can't communicate, Confusion, F/M, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gilbert Blythe in Love, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, In true canon fashion, Jumping to Conclusions, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pining, Shirbert, Slow Burn, Smitten Gilbert Blythe, it'll take Anne a while but she'll get there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 98,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24259033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyBubbles/pseuds/BeckyBubbles
Summary: Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and Gilbert Blythe have been best friends since an unfortunate incident involving his head and her book. Despite Gilbert having slightly more than a crush on her since then, Anne is holding out hope for a boy like the ones in her books.But what will happen when he actually arrives?Cue confusion, miscommunication and plenty of mixups!
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 264
Kudos: 339





	1. 'You have bewitched me, body and soul' Pride and Prejudice

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is my first attempt at fan fiction. I was compelled to write due to a little strike of inspiration, the very wonderful Anne with an E fandom, and also the very wonderful Anne with an E (COULD THEY JUST RENEW IT ALREADY??). I haven't written since I was about 16, which was a good few years back now, so please be kind. Any comments or constructive feedback would be appreciated. Disclaimer: I am Irish, so if there are any words that are the English spelling rather than American I do apologise. Also, each chapter title is from the book featured in the chapter.  
> Be safe and take care of each other!  
> And, i guess, enjoy!

The sun rose over Avonlea on an early September morning, illuminating an old whitewashed farmhouse with painted green trimmings and windows, in a glow of orange sunshine. The sun glimmered through the lacy white curtains, warming a red headed girl, just as she rolled over to knock her alarm clock to indicate she wanted five more minutes before she had to get up. The house had already awoken, her adoptive mother, Marilla, rattling around the kitchen preparing breakfast, her hair fastened in a tight knot at the back of her head. Marilla’s brother, Matthew, had gotten up an hour previous to that, tinkering in the large shed at the back of the house that had once been a barn for a farm that had ceased operating just before the Cuthbert’s grandparents purchased the old house in the 30’s. He used the old shed as a garage now for the mechanic business he ran from home and the splutter of a long dormant engine gasping back to life was enough to awaken the girl in the upstairs bedroom from her lazy doze and finally drag herself up to meet the day.

As Anne rubbed sleep from her eyes and marvelled at the sun rising over the hills opposite her gabled room window and how the golden glow warmed the snow-white petals of the beautiful cherry blossom that stood proud just outside, she pondered her day. It was the 1st of September, a Friday, and it was her first day back to school, a trepidatious toe-dip into a pool before you take a leap. The beginning of the last year of her high school education. She was excited to have the gang all back together again. The summer was broken up by her friends holidaying abroad and it was difficult to see everyone together. She was especially excited to see Gilbert, one of her best friends (it was a toss-up between him and Diana, but she would swear blind to each of them that they were the favourite). He had holidayed with his guardian Bash’s family in Trinidad, a common occurrence during the summer ever since Gilbert’s father passed a few years ago, followed tragically by Bash’s wife, Mary. It was so Bash’s daughter, Dellie, a rambunctious three-year-old with sturdy, rolled legs, could see her grandmother, but Anne knew that they both enjoyed the escapism. The old Blythe house was fine when the two men in it were busy with school and work, but two months stretching out with not too much to do shrouded both in memories they would rather not confront. Instead, they basked in some Caribbean sun. Anne suffered for it though. She missed him terribly when he was gone and was looking forward to their walks to school again, him normally meeting her at Green Gables and them walking together, chatting freely about anything and everything.

She stretched out her pale, freckled arms before climbing out of her bed to get ready. After washing her face and teeth, selecting a 40’s style floral tea dress and her favourite scuffed combat boots to wear and choking down eggs, toast and tea, she hurriedly made her way to the door. She checked her appearance once again in the mirror over the dresser in the hall. She dabbed at her lips with a little gloss and patted some blusher into her cheeks before she turned her attention to her hair. It was long and red and thick and wavy and, ultimately, the bane of her life. She had never recovered her love for it after all the ‘gingers have no souls’ jokes she had to endure at the foster home she lived in before being adopted at 11. She combed it hurriedly, letting it fall in thick waves down her back. Glancing at the grandfather clock in the hall, she noted the time. She was 5 minutes late. She glanced at her reflection again, shouted a ‘goodbye’ over her shoulder to Marilla and grabbed her book from the unit top, tucking it into the crook of her arm as she swung her satchel over her shoulder and threw open the door. She could never be too far from a book and so a tome of classic literature was a constant companion wherever she went. Her current novel was _Pride and Prejudice_ , a firm favourite and about a sixth reread for Anne, and she smiled at the memory of the story that was about to unfold when her eyes met the tall figure of a significantly sun-kissed Gilbert Blythe, leaning nonchalantly against the white picket fence that encircled Green Gables.

His face split into a brilliant grin as he observed her approach, and she took off at a run, throwing herself into his arms, winding him with the impact.

“I missed you!” she exclaimed voice muffled in the t-shirt she had her face buried in.

He laughed. “I missed you, too. So much.”

They broke apart, and he opened the gate, flourishing his arm for her to go before him. “After you.”

“Why, thank you,” she mocked. “So chivalrous.”

“I only aim to please.”

They ambled down the path together, Anne having remarked on his tan and him sharing all the wonderful experiences he had on his trip. Anne didn’t go on a trip. Matthew had had a heart complaint and the travel insurance would have been too expensive for them. She lived vicariously through Gilbert, hanging on his every word.

“So, you had fun, then?” she confirmed, when he finished his tale with a story of Bash on a jet ski that ended up with a trip to the hospital.

“Oh, so much,” he grinned down at her. “What about you? Get up to anything fun around here?”

“Oh, you know, made a huge scientific discovery, won a Nobel Prize for it, stopped a bank robbery, delivered a baby and fought the patriarchy single-handedly. You know, normal summer stuff.”

He chuckled at her response. “So, you haven’t really been busy then?” he said, his voice light with humour.

She groaned at that. She _hadn’t_ really been busy. With him away, Diana in Paris for a few weeks and Cole holidaying in Southern Italy with Josephine Barry, Diana’s elderly aunt who kindly took him in after he came out to his parents and they rejected him, she was decidedly extremely lonely. “I read a lot. There is a really pretty little spot by the brook at the back of my house, where the sun hits just right. Matthew made me a swing and hung it to the tree there, and that’s where I stayed, devouring books about people who were having a lot more fun than me.”

“What are you reading now?” he asked, grabbing at the book still tucked against her chest. “ _Pride and Prejudice_ again?”

He laughed, turning the book over in his hands.

“Laugh now, Mr Blythe, but it _is_ a romantic classic for a reason. Maybe you should toss a biology textbook aside once in a while and read a little about love. God knows, you could just learn something.”

She was teasing him, but when she looked into his face, he wore such a strange expression that it made her flush a little, his eyes locked with hers and his mouth twisted into a queer half smile.

“I’ll have you know,” he said, voice low and warm hazel eyes never drifting from hers, “that I have been single for just as long as you have.”

“Well, so far it appears we’re both going to stay that way. Unless Mr Rochester wants to dump Jane, climb out of the book and take me as his own!” She huffed out a little laugh and dragged her eyes from him, his smile falling a little when she made her last proclamation. Anne knew why she was single; she was skinny and plain and freckled and too lost in her fantasy of the brooding, dark hero to let herself fall for anyone real, but she has no clue why Gilbert still was. He was so handsome; all toned muscle, long limbs and chocolate coloured curls. He had warm hazel eyes that lit up when he was happy and a mouth that twisted into the most charming smile. He wasn’t overly outgoing, but everyone at school adored him and she knew plenty of girls that would happily date him if he gave them any sign he was interested. One, for definite.

“Well if that’s the case,” Gilbert said, breaking their silence, “maybe I should be the one reading this instead of you, for the sixtieth time.”

“You exaggerate. It’s only the fifty ninth! And of course, you can take it now if you want.” She gestured to the book in his hand, an idea springing to her mind that made her face split into a grin. “In fact, why don’t we do a little bit of a book club? I could give you some romance books to read and you could give them back with your feedback.”

He groaned. “I was joking, Anne.”

“I know, but it could be fun. Expand your mind, broaden your imagination. Fall in love a little, you know?”

She smiled sheepishly up at him, and noticed he was watching her, that funny look painted on his face again. She pinkened under his gaze, shrinking into herself as his honey flecked eyes roamed over her face.

“Okay,” he said finally, and Anne beamed, prattling on about the next few books he could get when he finished that one. Gilbert smiled as he watched her, so full of enthusiasm. He had only agreed so he could have a little peek into her brilliant mind.

**********

Anne and Gilbert separated at school, him slinking off with his hands in his pockets to share summer pleasantries with Moody Spurgeon and Charlie Sloane. Anne cast a glance around, looking for the blue and black that indicated the presence of her bosom friend. She spotted her straight away standing with Cole McKenzie, sporting a pale blue slip dress layered over a cream t-shirt, her raven curls tied into a low ponytail fastened with a blue bow. Anne made her way over to her, slinking her arms around Diana’s waist and resting her chin on her shoulder.

“I missed you so,” Anne crooned, as she squeezed Diana tight. Diana laughed prettily, laying her hands over Anne’s and resting her head on top of her friends.

“And I you.”

Cole made an ‘I’m going to barf’ gesture, finger at his mouth, rolling his eyes. Anne giggled. “Did you think I forgot about you!” she cried, attacking him with little jabs of her finger and then pulling him in for a long hug. The trio linked arms, Anne in the middle, and made their way towards their homeroom.

“Have you heard the rumours spilling off the gossip mill today?” enquired Diana.

Both Anne and Cole shook their heads.

“Apparently,” Diana continued, “Billy and Josie are hitting the rocks.”

She was referring to Billy Andrews and Josie Pye, the Hollywood golden couple of their school, sharing perfect bodies, golden hair, over-inflated egos and a 3-year relationship.

“I don’t think they're hitting the rocks as much as Josie has just realised Billy is a rock,” quipped Cole, with a mischievous smile.

“Cole!” the girls scolded.

“Poor Josie,” Diana said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re meant to have fought because he was playing away, if you know what I mean. Her parents are super conservative and Josie wants to wait to do _that_ until they are married.”

Anne’s mouth formed a little ‘O’. She wasn’t a huge Josie Pye fan, tolerating her for the sake of their friends and brushing off any backhanded compliments that came hurtling her way, but the entitlement of Billy Andrews struck her.

“They’ve been together for three years,” she said, indignantly. “Surely, he should respect her enough to not push the issue. They _must_ have talked about this before and he _must_ have been fine with it. She shouldn’t have to do what she doesn’t want to!”

Diana and Cole nodded, but knowing Anne’s temper had flared, decided to drop the subject.

“In other news,” Cole continued, “has anyone seen Ruby Gillis yet?”

Anne and Diana shook their heads.

“Well then, you’re in for a surprise.” He held the door open for his two friends as they entered homeroom.

The day had passed quickly, anecdotes shared between school chums about how they spent the long summer peppering the gaps in between lessons, and soon enough it was lunchtime. The gang would be back together.

Anne, Cole and Diana chose a large table in the canteen, a circle surrounded by a low bench. They slipped into their seats before being joined by Tillie Boulter and Jane Andrews. Tillie was a plump, brown haired beauty; all soft curves, full lips, and fluttery eyelashes. She was the envy of all the girls in school, her confidence in her looks and her collection of 60’s swing dresses to offset her figure making her a magnet for the male population. Her current predicament was a love triangle between herself and Paul and Paul, both vying for her attention. She grinned as she sat down.

“Just _wait_ until you see Ruby,” she squealed at the others.

Jane nodded in agreement, her long slim legs, dressed in flared jeans and Doc Martens, swinging over the bench to face them. Jane was Billy Andrews twin sister, and what he had in athletic ability, she had in academic brilliance, sarcastic wit and an ability to out-smoke a steam engine. She was a lithe figure, her tanned skin contrasting with dark caramel curls that were cut long with bangs framing her face.

They were soon joined by Josie, smiling acidly as she sat down, flicking her expensively bleached hair over her shoulder.

“How was your summer, Josie?” Diana asked politely, but Anne knew she was fishing for information on Billy. And as if he sensed it, Billy appeared. Her leant down to Josie, whispering “Hey, babe”, lips capturing hers in a long kiss, before his teeth nipped at her bottom lip.

Anne’s face contorted in disgust.

“Some people are eating,” Tillie giggled.

“So are they,” Cole shot back, earning a laugh from the group, but a look of distaste from the couple. They must have decided to put on a united front, knowing how quickly gossip spreads in school.

Josie turned her attention back to the table. “So, as per tradition, we are all going to the ruins by the pier today to celebrate being back together?” she confirmed. Despite it being early Autumn, there was still heat in the sun and the gang all got together to play silly games and pier jump, shrieking as they splashed down into the cold water below. It was a party to celebrate their youth and the end of the summer. The others all agreed, discussing their excitement for this long-held tradition.

As they did so, Gilbert came up behind them. He normally sat with the boys at lunch, with Anne not seeing him again until their walk home. He laid his hand lightly on her back as he sat down beside her, the unexpected contact making Anne sit stiff. As if sensing this, his hand quickly withdrew but they looked at each other and smiled. When she turned back to the group, Anne noticed Diana watching them, eyes wide with a small smile tugging at her lips. Anne flushed and looked at her hands, trying to think of something to say to turn the attention off her when Ruby Gillis came into view. Collectively, the gang inhaled a quick, sharp breath.

“Ain’t she a beauty,” Anne heard Cole say.

Ruby was extremely different from the girl they left in June. Then, she was the baby of their group, innocent and sweet, clad in saccharine pink smock dresses with ringlet curls in her hair. Now she came towards them, positively mature looking, her honey hair shimmering with highlights, a smoked brown eyeshadow emphasising her round blue eyes and a short pink skirt and top emphasising her curves.

“Twit twoo,” Cole whistled as she sat.

“Oh, Ruby, you’re beautiful,” Diana gushed.

“Yes, it’s amazing what some highlights, a push up bra and a trip to Charlotte Tilbury can do,” Josie sneered, but then finished with a smile that wrinkled her nose to act the innocent compliment giver. Anne noticed Billy’s eyes roam over Ruby like a hungry dog waiting for dinner. She imagined Josie probably did too.

Ruby blushed. “Thank you,” she said sweetly. “It was a treat from my sister for being her bridesmaid over the summer,” she explained, hands playing with her hair. Although she spoke to the group, her eyes were attached to Gilbert, who was eating quietly, not paying too much attention to the transformation in front of him. Anne kicked him sharply under the table, frustrated with his obliviousness to Ruby’s long-suffering crush.

His eyes snapped to Anne’s, hers boring into his and flicking towards Ruby. Clearing his throat and noticing that all eyes were now on him, he smiled. “You look really nice, Ruby.”

Ruby’s eyes went wide. “Thank you, Gilbert.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, smiling tightly before returning to his lunch.

“Ruby, you were beautiful before, and you’re beautiful now,” Anne smiled, taking Ruby’s hand in hers and squeezing it lightly.

“Thank you, Anne. The attention is going to be something to get used to, however”, Ruby whispered, just as Moody Spurgeon passed, cheerfully saying hello to them all, while his eyes rested tenderly on Ruby.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully: science lessons, where Anne was partnered with Tillie and Diana with Fred Wright, English, where Anne and Gilbert argued heatedly over a dystopian novel assigned as a reading project by Miss Stacy, and then Mathematics, where Anne tried her hardest but was not always successful.

She walked home with Gilbert, their argument in class long-forgotten, as was the nature of their relationship ever since his profound apology after the ‘book incident’ of their past; when he tugged Anne’s hair, calling her ‘carrots’ on her first day of school, and she cracked her hard back copy of _The Railway Children_ against his temple in response. When Anne asked a few years later why he did it, he responded, puzzled, “I just wanted to speak to you.” To this day, Anne still didn’t know why.

They separated at the gate of Green Gables, reconfirming that they would see each other at the pier later, before Anne pushed open the gate and rounded the house to Matthew’s garage. When she peeped her head in, she couldn’t see any sign of Matthew, but was instead greeted by Jerry Baynard, Matthew’s apprentice.

“Jerry,” Anne greeted. “I didn’t see you at school today?”

“No.” Jerry straightened from behind the car hood he had raised. “I’ve decided not to go back this year. Diana didn’t say? Matthew told me he’s making enough to pay me a wage, and this is what I’d rather be doing anyway, so here I am.”

Anne’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would Diana have told me?” she questioned.

“Oh.” Jerry’s face fell. “I just, um, met her over the summer in town and she had asked about me so I told her.”

Anne nodded, satisfied with the response, but a little wary of the sadness that flitted over Jerry’s brown eyes momentarily.

“Well, we’re going to the ruins by the pier today. You can join us if you like.” She smiled as he thanked her. He would love to. Anne waved goodbye, before returning to the house, finding Matthew and Marilla both in the kitchen.

“Hello, you lovely dears!” She sing-songed, planting a kiss on both their faces.

“Hello to you,” Marilla chirped back. “How was school?”

“Great. I’m glad to back into the routine of it all, and obviously have Diana, Cole and Gilbert again.”

“How was the boys’ trip?” Marilla asked, pouring tea from a ceramic teapot into a chintzy cup for Anne. The Cuthberts had become closer to the Blythe-Lacroix family after Mary’s death, Marilla and Bash striking up an unlikely friendship that involved cooking lessons, tutorials on hand-knitting cardigans and marvelling over how big and clever Dellie was becoming.

Anne sipped her tea gratefully whilst sharing some highlights of Bash and Gilbert’s trip. “I think he’s glad to be back.”

“I’m sure he is,” Marilla said, sharing a knowing look with Matthew, who smiled softly at his daughter. Anne’s brow furrowed at the gesture and she finished her tea listening to them chatter about the garage.

**********

At 7 o’ clock, just as the sun began to paint the sky with strips of pink and orange to signal her slow descent, Anne and her friends met at the pier. It was a lush, green part of Avonlea - a stone boatyard that had long ago crumbled and was now the home of a thicket of trees and shrubs that emanated a heady scent in the heat of the evening. There was an old wooden pier that jutted out from the land and the cool water of the lake twinkled like a Tiffany’s ring as it rippled in the glow of the sun.

Anne and Cole busied themselves stretching out a tartan blanket Anne took from home, as Gilbert stocked the cooler that Jane Andrews brought with their drinks. She lay back, basking in the heat and the happiness of friendship, when a dark shadow descended on her. Her eyes blinked open, and there, before her, stood Mr Rochester himself. Anne bolted upright, her eyes passing between this new stranger and Diana who was beside him.

“Gang, this is my cousin, Royal Gardner.” She gestured around her. “Roy, this is the gang.”

Roy lifted his hand in a gesture of acknowledgment, eyes falling on the blanket where Anne and Cole sat, as Diana explained to the group about how he was from London, England, got kicked out of his school because of setting off some fireworks and his parents thinking it fitting that he spends time with Diana, “a good and steady influence,” she concluded with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you.” Cole shook his hand. “I’m Cole.”

“Cole,” Roy repeated, before turning to Anne, who realised it was a little rude she didn’t stand up to greet him. He hunkered beside her instead. “And you?” he asked, his hand outstretched to her.

“I’m Anne.” Anne’s hand brushed his, startled at the coolness of his palm against hers. She surveyed their hands joined and then his roguish face.

“A pleasure,” he said, as their hands shook. There was something almost reminiscent of Cole about him. A tall, thin frame, with finely toned muscle and tendons and smooth pale skin, but they were opposite in colouring. Where Cole’s hair was brilliantly blonde with kind, pale blue eyes, Roy’s hair was as black as midnight, cut to the length of his sharp jaw and tucked behind his ears. His eyes were brooding, dark and serious and his cheekbones high and sharp enough to cut glass, hollows in his cheeks. Anne felt herself flush, skin pinkening from her collar bones and spreading up over her elegant neck. Realising her eyes probably lingered on him longer than what was socially acceptable, she quickly lowered her gaze and dropped his hand. He lowered himself beside her and Cole sat again too, Diana disappearing quickly when Jerry arrived. Anne ran her eyes around the group, realising she couldn’t see him anymore either.

“So, what’re your interests, Roy?” Cole asked, lounging lazily on the tartan blanket.

“I’m into literature,” he shrugged. Anne’s ears pricked at this. Literature. He was into literature, just like her. It was as if it was written in the stars.

“Really? So is our Anne, here. She’s a literary genius in the making.” Cole grinned at her and she shrugged modestly under Roy’s intense gaze.

“What do you read?” he asked her, stretching onto his back, the hem of his black t-shirt rising as he placed his hands behind his head, exposing a tantalising glimpse of pale skin and smooth muscle speckled with dark hair.

Anne gulped back. “Oh, you know, this and that. I love the classics, but I would read anything. The back of a cereal box if I had nothing else to hand.”

A laugh gurgled from his throat, a deep baritone that rasped like a smoker. Anne found herself wondering if he did smoke, if he tasted like cigarettes.

As they became acquainted, Diana reappeared, her dress already removed revealing a blue gingham bikini speckled in painted roses.

“Let’s cool off,” she exclaimed, grabbing Anne by the hand and dragging her to her feet as Jane, Josie, Ruby and Tillie jumped of the pier, squealing as they splashed into the cool depths below them. 

Anne moved to her bag, propped under a tree and began removing her clothes.

“She’s beguiling,” Roy said plainly to Cole, watching the light dance off her red hair as it fell over her shoulder.

“Yes. She’s very special.” Cole smiled at Roy, but his eyes roamed across the people scattered on the grass, looking for a handsome face, thick chocolate curls and a pair of warm hazel eyes that he knew would be trained on Anne too. There he was, Gilbert Blythe, sitting cross-legged with Charlie and Moody, feigning interest in a conversation but his mind on a completely different topic. His eyes roamed over Anne’s hair, her pale freckled limbs, now exposed in a green two piece, and his chest heaved as if he forgot to breath. Poor Gilbert, Cole thought. He has been enchanted by her since her book met the side of his head.

Anne and Diana ambled to the pier, Anne self-consciously throwing a glance over her shoulder to see if Roy watched her. A pang of disappointment struck her chest as she noticed him chatting to Cole, a cigarette dangling between two long digits. Instead, she was shocked to see Gilbert stare at them, eyes drowning in kindness and something else that made her lower belly flutter. She flushed, head snapping towards the water again quickly. Why was he looking at them like that?

“You ready?” queried Diana, her hand entwined in Anne’s, her face glorious in anticipation of the cool water. And then it struck Anne. Diana was so beautiful, absolutely effervescent. It would be ridiculous to assume that Gilbert didn’t notice. Anne nodded, a little dumbstruck at this revelation, but before she had time to process it further, Diana began to run, dragging Anne with her. She cackled as they neared the end of the pier, both so full of life and freedom, before launching themselves into the air, hands clasped. They hit the water feet first, heads thrown back laughing and gasping as the chilled water encircled them, droplets sprinkling down onto their exposed faces and shoulders, glistening on their ivory skin like morning dew.

A few hours later, the temperature and daylight had dropped enough to draw everyone out of the water and back into their clothes, now layered in woollen cardigans and sweatshirts, blankets draped over any exposed legs. They sat around a campfire that Moody had set but failed to ignite, Cole’s hands being the only pair with the dexterity to angle the flint properly. “The benefits of being an artist,” he boasted, to the cheers of the others.

Anne was sandwiched between Gilbert and Roy, revelling in their body heat and the musky scent of masculinity. Her skin tingled as her arm grazed Roy’s. She was lost in a daydream of him appearing like this; the brooding hero of her every fantasy, who swept her into a passionate romance, ending tragically with his departure back to London, them tearfully vowing undying love in a busy departure lounge, when a deep rumble cut across her thoughts, drawing her back to reality.

“What was that?” she asked Gilbert brightly, afraid suddenly that he could read her mind.

“Have you had fun?” he repeated, smiling down at her, the pads of his fingers brushing her arm and goose-pimpling her skin.

“Yes,” she croaked, her breath catching in her throat.

“Good.”

His attention returned to the group when Josie Pye suggested a game of Truth or Dare. There was a collective groan, the majority of them knowing this was just her way of goading them into doing something humiliating that she could use as fodder for her future insults, but as she was a hard woman to argue with, they agreed.

“Fabulous,” she chirped, kicking of the game with a dare for Jerry to jump into the water in only his underwear, a challenge as the temperature of the water must have dropped close to freezing in the night air. He obliged, Diana clapping as he re-emerged, water running in rivulets down his toned tummy and absorbing into his waistband.

Moody was next in completing a dare, followed with a truth from Jane, who was feeling just _too_ done in to move anymore. Then came Tillie, dared to give a lap-dance to her favourite Paul. She was thankful they sat together, draping her body across both of them and writhing with laughter rather than seduction. Next was Gilbert, who endured these games for the sake of the others but was generally uninterested in any scandals they raised.

“Right then…Gilbert, let me think,” Josie chided, drumming her fingers along her lips in what she hoped was a tempting gesture. Despite being with Billy, even Josie wasn’t immune to Gilbert’s charm. And then her face lit up like a light bulb, her features arranged into a ‘eureka!’ look of wide-eyed surprise. She smiled coyly, eyes flitting between Ruby and him, before settling on their target.

“Do you have a crush on anyone?” she drawled, propping herself onto her chin in a conspiratorial, tell-me-your-secrets-and-I-promise-to keep-them manner.

Everyone turned towards him now, eyes wide with anticipation of the answer.

Gilbert shot a hasty look towards Anne under his lashes, automatically regretting it in case the others noticed and pieced two and two together.

“Um…”

“Only the truth! You promised,” pouted Josie. Ruby watched him, starry-eyed, Moody watching her more or less the same.

Then, after sucking in the chilled air, Gilbert breathed out, “Yes.”

“Ooh, do tell!” encouraged Tillie.

“Is she here?” asked Jane.

“Hey, he didn’t say it was a _she_ ,” corrected Cole, his voice honeyed with humour. “It could be me.”

Gilbert was blushing. Anne could see the spots of crimson high on his cheekbones.

“Well, who is it?” Josie pried.

“I don’t have to say. I’ve given my truth,” he smirked. “She may be here, she may not. And, unfortunately, she is a _she_ , Cole. If not, you would be the top of my list, buddy.”

The game ended abruptly after that, everyone in whispering speculation of who Gilbert was talking about. Anne sat in silence, not wanting to add fuel to the gossip, but hurt that he had never shared this with her before sharing with the group. She eyed the enthusiastic faces of her friends, all peeping his way in whispering trepidation, before her eyes settled on Diana, the corners of her perfect mouth curving into a slow smile, eyes heavy with emotion.

Anne drew her eyes to her hands, fidgeting restlessly on her knees. She gulped, swallowing back the panicked feeling of her life being on the precipice of changing forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading this, firstly, thank you for your persistence. I know this chapter is quite descriptive, but I wanted a little introduction to how I envisioned each character, especially the girls. I find Glenna Walters so ruddy cool. She is who I want to be when I'm older, despite my already being 7 years her senior. I hope I did her character's style justice. This is my first time writing romance, so I hope that the relationship between Anne and Gilbert is clearly defined and that the tension continues to build in a believable way.  
> I really wish you all peace and safety in these troubling times. Keep practising kindness and self-care, and maybe this story will bring you just a little bit of escapism. Take care!
> 
> Ps. Come say hi on tumblr if you'd like!  
> Find me under @beckybubbles


	2. '“As you wish.” Of course, what he really meant was “I love you.”' The Princess Bride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne is fantasising about the dashing Roy, but after Gilbert's revelation at the campfire, is curious to find out more about his mystery crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate Anne's petition reaching 500K signatures I thought I would share part two a little earlier than planned. A half a mill, huh? Who'd have thunk it!

_The breeze was light and gentle, the breath of a mother inhaling the scent of a new-born, and the heads of the daisies danced in it, revelling in the sunshine of the spring. She lay amongst the flowers, the dew dampening her long skirts and the creamy skin of her exposed arms, the stem of a perfect blossom twirling in her fingers. The hum of the bees and the beating of butterfly wings was all that could be heard but was broken suddenly by the rhythmic drum of horse hooves on the earth. She straightened immediately, her heart hammering in her chest, long auburn locks falling around her shoulders, like a cloak of fire. She squinted into the distance, head turning this way and that to search out the source of the sound. Suddenly, a horse and his rider came into view, a silhouette outlined in sun. As it neared, her heart began to thunder. She knew this man. She loved him._

_Springing to her feet, she began running toward him, her heart flying like a kite on a breeze. He swung himself from the back of the horse in graceful, languid movements, before striding to her, long purposeful steps, until they collided. His arms wrapped tightly around her back, hers encircling his waist, breathing in the smell of leather and oak from his greatcoat._

_“Oh, Cordelia. My beautiful Cordelia,” he murmured to her, his voice no more than a whisper._

_“Wisteria, I thought I would never see you again.”_

_“I am here, my beautiful Cordelia. They can try to keep us apart. They tell me I am no good, my reputation will sully your good name, but I love you more than I can fathom, and I can’t be parted from you again. You are the only cup that will ever satiate my thirst.”_

_“Wisteria, I love you. Oh, so much.”_

_The lovers drew back from each other, Cordelia’s eyes roaming over the magnificent man that stood before her. His strong brow, and high, defined cheekbones. His roguish smile, defined jaw, raven black hair swept back from his face and his eyes, an open book telling a story of love, their love, deep and brown. His hands moved to her cheeks, cupping her face gently. Their eyes dropped, gazing at the wanting lips of their lover, heads moving closer and closer until…_

‘Until what?’ Anne wondered, resting her chin in her hand, fingers drumming contemplatively against her open notebook. She gazed out the window, taking in the Sunday afternoon sunshine, the stretch of fields and her dear cherry blossom that lay just beyond the confines of her room. She closed her eyes, willing inspiration, her memory transporting her back to Friday night and a boy with sad eyes and coal black hair smiling at her as their hands clasped. She was sorry to say, as independent as she thought herself, her mind wandered to Roy whenever her thoughts were unoccupied. And sometimes when they were. There was, of course, another boy who occupied her mind too. A friendly face, with a mischievous smile, who had a secret crush. One she suspected might just be reciprocated. Oh, what a woeful feeling it was to be part of something, but still not. How lonely she would be if they acted on this. How desperately lost without their steady friendship, both now more devoted to each other. How absolutely, undeniably…

A faint cough and a shuffle dragged her from her reverie and around to face the very boy she was so worried about, now lounging casually on her bed, his legs crossed at the ankles, one hand propped behind his head, the other holding a well-loved copy of _Pride and Prejudice._ She rested her hands on the back of her desk chair and propped her chin on top of them, smiling as she watched him drink in the story of Lizzie and Mr Darcy.

“How are you enjoying it so far?” she questioned, moving towards her bed and flopping onto her back beside him, head resting on a cushion Marilla had lovingly embroidered; pale green letters reading ‘Anne of Green Gables’ in a flourishing script.

“It’s good,” he replied, turning his face towards her. “I only have a few pages left to go.”

His eyes roamed over her face and she smiled back at him before cuddling into his chest, inhaling deeply to steady herself before broaching her next topic. She could feel him move under her, his arm shifting from behind his head, a brief moment of hesitation, and then it moved to curl around her shoulder. She wondered why she was anxious of talking to him about the events of Friday night. She trusted him implicitly and there was no other person she felt safer with, with the exception, of course, of her parents.

She flipped onto her tummy now, chin resting on his chest, watching him as he turned a page.

“You know,” he teased, “I won’t be able to concentrate if you keep eyeballing me like that.”

“Like what? I’m as quiet as a mouse here,” she giggled.

“And yet, you are still distracting me so.”

He turned to her now, laying the open book flat on his stomach, his freehand quirking her on her chin. “What’s up?”

“Were you going to tell me about your crush?” she blurted, the contact of his hand on her face causing the words to splutter from her unexpectedly.

“What?” His skin was suddenly ashen, his eyes wide. “You know?” he croaked, as if his throat was victim to a long spell of dehydration.

“Gil, you kind of told everyone…” she probed, perplexed by his curious reaction. “I want to know who she is!” She had her suspicion, of course, but she didn’t want to be so bold as to assume. Better it came from his lips.

His colour returned slowly, and he sighed, as if he was a convicted man, dragged through the streets, heckled, forced to kneel at the block and then spared the guillotine.

“It’s nothing,” he offered. “It’s not serious.” He ran a hand across his face. He was lying of course. It was serious. It burned him up, flames licking and caressing like her halo of fire-red hair.

He went to lift his book again, but her hand landed on top of his preventing him.

“Why won’t you talk to me about this? We’re best friends, aren’t we? We are meant to talk about stuff like this.”

“No, Anne, we’re not.” He rolled to his side now, sitting up at the edge of her bed. Anne shifted onto her knees behind him.

“Well, if not me then who? Bash is like a parent and _I_ don’t often go around sharing all the inner workings of my head with Matthew and Marilla. I share them with _you_.” When he didn’t react, she added, “And _Diana,_ of course,” waiting for a reaction at the mention of her name.

“Look, it’s fine. I’ll tell her when I’m ready.”

“Do you think she knows?”

At this he turned to face her, and she was startled by the sincerity in his eyes, finding herself unable to draw her gaze from his.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, his voice low and velvety. “Sometimes I think she has to, and other times I’m not too sure.”

Anne’s voice was lost in her throat, the air becoming thick around her, charged with something she couldn’t quite identify.

“Well,” she uttered eventually, “she’ll be very lucky, whoever she is.” Then she reached across and squeezed his hand, his gaze dropping to where their fingers tangled.

The moment was so brief but the intimacy of it unsettled Anne and suddenly she was on her feet again, smoothing down the front of her dress and returning to her chair.

“What are you writing?” he asked, lowering himself onto his back.

“A little love story,” she replied, feverishly scribbling out words and penning substitutions.

“Who about? A brooding Mr Rochester and the heroic Princess Cordelia?” he teased her, knowing how a moody, ‘I’ve-hidden-my-wife-in-the-attic’ type was always a prominent feature in Anne’s tales.

“ _No,”_ she scolded. “This time I drew from life.”

“Really? A handsome, flamboyant homosexual who breaks the heart of a flame-haired princess? Sounds like a tragical romance alright,” he joked, never being bold enough to presume he could be written in to one of Anne’s stories and so offering Cole instead.

“Watch yourself, sir,” she ribbed, “or you will be at the receiving end of a bout of my temper!”

“I have already, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert, and as far as I recall, I recovered just fine.”

She laughed, both reminiscing on that old classroom and the blue covered hardback that almost caused a concussion.

After a pause, she ventured, “You know Diana’s cousin? Roy?” Gilbert nodded, lowering the open book again, wary. He didn’t like where he felt this conversation was headed.

“What did you think of him?” Anne probed, a little self-consciously.

“He seemed…,” Gilbert paused, searching for the right word. Not too encouraging, but not too negative. “Fine. What did you think of him?”

Anne blushed. “Well…he made it into my story.”

“Oh, right.” The weight of what she had just said pressed into him, a tonne of lead in the pit of his stomach. “Very good.”

Anne’s face contorted in confusion as Gilbert hid himself behind his novel again. _That was an odd reaction,_ she thought. Surely, he should be congratulating her on having a crush on a real-life human, instead of one of her ‘book boyfriends’, as he called them.

Brushing off Gilbert’s odd reaction, she returned to her work, but found herself lacking the concentration she needed in editing the prose now. Her gaze returned to the scene out the window.

She watched the birds flit across the sky and eyed Jerry leave for the day, hands buried in his pockets, taking long, quick strides, when the room was suddenly filled with the thud of a book closing.

“Well, that’s that,” Gilbert stated, sliding the book onto the top of her bedside cabinet.

“Did you enjoy it?” she asked, picking up on what she hoped was a peace offering, but had no understanding of why it was needed.

“I did, actually,” he replied. “Elizabeth Bennet is quite a girl. Pretty gutsy for Georgian England.”

“And Mr Darcy? Could you learn anything?” she challenged.

“Well, he does make a mean love declaration,” he grinned broadly, happy to be back in comfortable territory. He watched her as she stood, the graceful movement of her legs as she pattered across the dark stained wooden floor, stopping before her bookcase.

“Let me think,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Her fingers danced over the spine of a cloth backed novel, before she changed her mind and slipped out another.

“This one,” she declared triumphantly, flouncing onto the bed by his feet. He took the novel from her, turning it in his hands to read the blurb.

“A little bit more fantastical, but an epic love story all the same,” she justified.

“ _The Princess Bride,”_ he read aloud.

“Same as last time, give it a try and report back to me.”

“As you wish.”

Anne stilled, struck by what he just said and its significance in the story that now lay in his hands. She looked from the novel to his face and caught him staring, a soft expression in his eyes. The atmosphere became charged again, the air crackling with unresolved tension. She blinked slowly, unsure if she was hallucinating that he had leaned in slightly, when joyous conversation and thundering footsteps interrupted her compulsion to lean in too.

Anne’s eyes snapped from his, swivelling towards the entrance, expression wild as the white wooden door swung open and Diana and Cole spilled into the room.

They stopped suddenly, taking in the scene before them, Anne’s eyes wide, Gilbert’s eyes still lingering on Anne.

“Have we interrupted something?” Cole joked, pointing between the two.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Anne laughed, and Gilbert felt his shoulders slump.

“I was just leaving,” he said, standing up and collecting the book off the bed. “See you normal time tomorrow, Anne.” He saluted slightly, head ducked, and left, nodding at Cole and Diana as he passed.

Anne noticed that Diana and he locked eyes briefly before he left, her smile tight and her hand brushing his arm. She looked away quickly, busying herself with rearranging the pillows on her bed now Gilbert’s head had vacated them.

“Now that he is gone, guess who said you were beguiling on Friday night?” Cole quizzed, launching himself onto Anne’s bed and earning a playful slap, as she had just straightened it.

“You?” she asked, returning to her desk chair to make room for Diana to sit.

“Darling, you know I am beguiled by you every waking moment!” Cole proclaimed; hands crossed on his chest as if he were lovesick. “It was Roy.”

Anne felt a gurgle of excitement in the pit of her stomach. Beguiled? By her? She hadn’t dared to hope he was thinking of her like she was him, but here was proof!

“What a lovely word, beguiled,” she said calmly instead, trying to play it cool.

“Honey, you aren’t fooling anyone,” Cole jested, laughing at the spots of colour appearing on Anne’s cheeks. “Although, it _did_ feel like we were intruding on a little _moment_ earlier.” And to confirm what he was talking about, he added, “With _Gil.”_

“Don’t be ridiculous. I was quizzing him over his _mystery crush_. I wish he would tell me who it is.”

Diana and Cole shared a knowing look, Cole rolling his eyes and Diana huffing out a little laugh. Anne watched the exchange, puzzle pieces slotting together. Diana’s little smile at lunch on Friday. How Gilbert watched Diana when they pier jumped. Diana’s expression when he said that his crush might have been in the circle and the others began to guess.

“Unless it’s a secret,” she suggested plainly. “Maybe him and his crush aren’t ready to declare it to the world yet. It must be a big step, holding hands and shouting “World, we’re in love and we want everyone to know it!”

“Yes,” Diana smiled coyly. “I imagine it is.”

Anne furrowed her brow. Never would she have put Diana and Gilbert together, but now it was happening she had no real reason to stop it. They were her best friends, and although it scared her that she might become less important to both of them, she would be supportive. Because that’s what best friends did, right?

**********

The next morning, at 8.30 sharp, Anne and Gilbert meandered through the streets of Avonlea, headed to school. They chattered companionably, Gilbert recounting Moody’s mortification at having struck out with Ruby on Friday night.

“And the main problem is,” Gilbert gasped, exasperated, “she thinks that he is only paying attention because of this ‘makeover’ but he has liked her long before that! The guy lost 30 pounds over the summer; his confidence is soaring. What better time for him to make himself known than now.”

“Poor Moody,” Anne agreed. “I’ll see if I can talk to her about it. I know she sort of has her sights set on someone else now though.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Gilbert groaned, dragging his hands through his hair.

As they neared the wrought iron gates of Avonlea High School, Gilbert offered a new subject.

“I began _The Princess Bride_ last night. It’s as wacky as I remember.”

“You’ve read it before?” Anne startled, thinking back to what he said yesterday. _As you wish._

“Well, I’ve seen the movie. I know it’s not really the same and you’ll probably scold and…Anne?”

Her attention had drifted to a handsome figure leaning against a sky-blue car, his arms wrapped in a leather jacket, one crossing his stomach and the other raising a cigarette to his lips. Anne gulped back as he exhaled a plume of white smoke and pushed his hair back from his face.

“Hey, Gil, I’ll catch up with you later. OK?” She didn’t wait for his answer, being drawn, trance-like, to Royal Gardner, like a moth to a flame.

Gilbert felt his jaw tense, the muscle there twinge. _Six years,_ he thought bitterly. Absolute devotion for six years and here is Roy, who wandered in three days ago and is already succeeding in something he could only wish for _._ He shook his head, his heart heavy. He knew he couldn’t force the matter. She didn’t feel the same, that was obvious, but sometimes her eyes lingered a beat too long and he hoped. Oh, he hoped. But maybe he shouldn’t hope anymore. Maybe he should try to move on. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

***********

Anne approached Roy slowly, confident that she wouldn’t be rebuked after what Cole had told her.

He cocked an eyebrow as she neared, pinching the bridge of his nose in concentration. Then, finally, “Anne, right?”

“Right,” she beamed. “Did you have fun on Friday?”

“Yeah. Everybody’s been really welcoming. Your friends are cool, and Cole seems like a really great guy.”

She grinned at the compliment, in what she hoped was a ‘dazzling’ way. His accent lilted almost like a song. She could listen to him speak forever.

“Cole is splendid,” she confirmed. “Hey, I think we could have some classes with each other. We could walk together, if you’re ready?”

He threw the remnants of his cigarette on the ground, crushing it under his foot. Anne watched the movement, equally enchanted by his grace and disgusted by his littering. _Nobody is perfect,_ she concluded, as he offered to carry her bag. She relented, handing her satchel to him, turning bashfully to walk beside him, basking in the side-long glances being thrown her way from the curious faces they passed.

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert walking with a perfect stranger. It was like an excerpt from a novel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you to those who have read chapter 1, left kudos and written comments. They're very much so appreciated. I felt very vulnerable posting this but all of the positive feedback has made it feel like it's a story worth telling. As you can tell from this chapter, Anne has definitely gotten the wrong end of the stick in regards to Gilbert's crush and Diana, queen of the Shirbert shippers. A lot of jumping to conclusions and making assumptions with no real clarification but if that isn't Anne and Gilbert's relationship, then I don't know what is. Stay safe and I hope you enjoyed x


	3. “In spite of you and me and the whole silly world going to pieces around us, I love you” Gone with the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Non-consensual touching/sexual assault discussed, similar to that depicted in the show.
> 
> Anne and Roy spend some time alone, much to Gilbert's despair and Josie Pye's birthday party takes an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again sooner than expected. I really took the writing bug with this chapter and bashed it out pretty quickly. It is long, almost the same length as my previous chapters combined, and it gets a little darker than my previous chapters but all will resolve itself soon. I hope you enjoy it!

October had come to Avonlea, bringing with it the anticipation of tart apple pies, a crisp chill to the air and bursts of golden and russet leaves to the great oak trees. Anne was in English, behind her sturdy wooden desk by the window, her chin resting in her hand as she absorbed the vista of the outside world, Ms Stacy’s melodic voice the soundtrack to Anne’s view as she recited ‘To Autumn’ by John Keats.

_“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,_

_Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;”_

Anne sighed, mind swirling with visions of fat pumpkins with coiling green stalks, bright red flames of a bonfire curling in the moonlight and ripe strawberry apples ready to be plucked from sagging boughs, as Ms Stacy concluded her narration, snapping the anthology closed with a thud.

“Notice that Keats’ descriptive language is natural – realistic - as opposed to the use of fantastical descriptors,” Ms Stacy analysed. “The use of rhyming couplets and iambic pentameter dictate the rhythm of the poetry; the speed and infliction in which the reader recites… Are we all listening? Anne?”

Anne’s attention returned to the front of the room, where Ms Stacy stood watching her, hands on hips.

“Oh, I am sorry, Ms Stacy. I was listening, I promise. I was distracted by the view. I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers,” Anne chattered, cheeks flushed in mortification that she had been caught day-dreaming. Ms Stacy was Anne’s favourite teacher, the best teacher she had ever had, but even she couldn’t distract Anne from the autumnal scene outside the window.

“It would do well for you to pay a bit more attention, Anne, for you to understand what is required of you for your next project,” Ms Stacy cautioned, although her features were soft. She had no need to worry about Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’s appreciation of Keats; Anne’s heart pumped poetry rather than plasma. “Now, I want everyone in groups of three.”

Cole wiggled his eyebrows at Anne, and she grinned back, one member of her group already decided. She scanned the room for Gilbert, but instead found Roy, standing in front of her and Cole with his books in his hand.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Anne gulped back; throat suddenly dry. “Not at all,” she croaked. He sat facing them, lounging back in his chair, head turned towards the view out of the window. My goodness, he was even more beautiful in side profile: his hair pushed back from his face exposing his long neck and a little mole just below his right ear. Anne wondered what it would feel like to place a little kiss there, and though the thought thrilled her, her stomach didn’t quite flutter with beating blue butterflies. _An English lesson probably isn’t such an appropriate or romantic place to be having such fantasies_ , she concluded, as way of explanation.

Their task was simple; to pick a poet and analyse three of their poems. Each member of the group analysed one, and then they were to cross reference to look for common themes, rhythms, and language styles, referencing these commonalities to the historical context and life of the poet. They were provided with a deadline of one week to complete the work, and Anne, Cole and Roy agreed that they would meet during the week to begin.

As the bell rang to signal a change of class, Anne stood to pack up her things, when she spotted Gilbert in the front row, rising from where he was seated with Billy and Paul L. _Oh, the injustice_ , Anne lamented, _He’ll be left with all the work._

“Hi,” she called brightly as she approached him.

“Hi to you.”

“I was wondering if you fancied coming to mine after school at all?” she questioned. She had the house to herself today, as Matthew had to drive to collect urgent car parts that hadn’t arrived with his last delivery, and Marilla insisting she go to, because “God forbid he have a heart attack at the wheel with no one with him” (Marilla’s words, not Anne’s). They wouldn’t be home until nine and a long evening alone didn’t appeal when the dark settled in so quickly. She would start imagining ghost stories; faces flashing in the mirror or dark figures dissolving into the shadows of the upstairs landing, and then would never be able to settle to sleep. 

“I can’t, sorry,” he replied with a shrug.

“You can’t?” Anne quirked an eyebrow. She had gotten a similar response from Diana; she was too busy tutoring Minnie May on the piano; “a hopeless task, really, but Mum and Dad are insisting!”

“Yeah, I can’t. I’ve got volunteering in Dr Ward’s office straight after school, and a tonne of homework I’m falling behind on,” Gilbert explained, as he held the classroom door open for Anne.

“That’s fine, no worries!” she replied, sunnily. “I’ll see you at tomorrow then.”

When he left her, she stalked off towards her locker, a storm brewing inside her chest. Anne wasn’t quite sure when Gilbert acted on his crush or when he and Diana became official but it was evident now that they were. Who did they think they were fooling and why were they still insisting on keeping her in the dark about their secret dates? When was Gilbert Blythe ever falling behind on homework? And Minnie May, as much as Anne adored her, had as much musical ability as a honking ostrich! Everyone knew that! What a poor excuse! These excuses were recurring more and more often over the past few weeks and she was becoming fed up with them, feeling it an insult to her intelligence. The fair thing to do would be to tell her. It's not like she hadn't guessed any way. She fumbled around in her locker, searching for her calculus book, slamming the door shut and then startling at the tall, toned frame of Roy Gardner leaning against the neighbouring lockers.

“Roy! You scared me.”

“I was wondering, did you want to meet up after school today?” he asked. “Six-ish, at that Starbucks on the corner where the big tree is?”

Anne smiled at the description of Allen Street; in the two months he had lived in here, he hadn’t quite gotten comfortable with navigating Avonlea yet. “Yes, please,” she chirped, excitement brewing in her tummy. “I’m home alone this evening so company would be amazing!”

“Ok, cool, so uhm – I’ll see you there then?” he confirmed, digging his hands into his pockets.

“You will.”

With that, he nodded and slunk off down the hall, most likely to find an abandoned corner, a blind spot to the school CCTV, where he could indulge in a sneaky cigarette. She watched his retreating frame until he was too far away to be able to hear her squeak of exhilaration and her feet hammering down the hall in the opposite direction to find Diana at lunch.

When Anne found Diana, she was sitting with Fred Wright. They had become closer due to their being lab partners and Anne got the distinct feeling that Fred had a bit of a crush. Not that Anne was surprised, what with Diana being so beautiful, but he was certainly barking up the wrong tree. Fred Wright was _not_ Gilbert Blythe. Where Gilbert was inconcievably clever, slim and muscular, with a handsome face and thick, dark hair, Fred was decidedly plain in comparison. He was broad shouldered and tall, but awkward in his height, and his hair was fine and fair, cropped close to his head. His face was friendly, round and open, with two brown orbs for eyes and cheeks that were permanently tinted pink. Anne wasn’t sure if that was his natural colouring or if it was born from his good humour, constantly flushed from his jolly temperament and continual chortling. He was _nice_ but not exactly a match for Diana. She was far too sophisticated.

“Diana!” she cried, grasping her friend by the hand and yanking her onto her feet and away from Fred’s eager ears.

“Anne,” Diana chided. “That was so horrible. He’s going to think I’m a total bitch now.”

“Diana, it’s Fred Wright. Since when did you care what he thinks?”

Diana cheeks flushed a pretty shade of rose petal pink. “Anne, we’re friends and we have to partner together in labs. I don’t want him thinking I’m a horrible person,” she explained indignantly.

“Look, never mind,” Anne dismissed, with a flap of her hands. “I think Roy just asked me on a date!”

“He what?” Diana squeaked, her face beaming in a brilliant grin as she and Anne clasped hands. Diana was constantly confounded by Roy. They were cousins and lived under the same roof, but he was like an enigma, holing up in his room at home and rarely socialising with her. Diana thought perhaps he felt intimidated by their home and family. Anne imagined she was right. The Barry’s were very prim, Orchard Slope being more like a show-home than a family home, and the girls were constantly checked and disciplined quite strictly, which explained why Diana, when away from her parents watchful eye, transformed into a crazed party-girl from a reality TV show anytime they were at parties with free-flowing alcohol.

“He asked to go for coffee. I mean, it may not be a date, but why else would he ask _just me_ to go for coffee? I cannot believe it!” She freed her hands from Diana’s, hovering them in front of her and marvelling at how they trembled. “See! I’m in shock!”

Diana pulled Anne in for a long squeeze. “I don’t know why. I’m always telling you that lots of boys fancy you, Anne, if you dragged your nose out of a book long enough to look around.”

“But real boys aren’t like book boyfriends,” Anne argued childishly, as her and Diana linked arms and made their way towards the rest of their friends seated around a table. “Roy, on the other hand…”

As they dropped into their seats beside Cole, Diana leaned to him conspiratorially, whispering, “Guess what?”

“What?” he asked, his sandwich half raised to his mouth.

“Roy asked Anne on a coffee date,” Diana squeaked.

“No! When?” Cole asked excitedly, his head swivelling between Anne and Diana.

“Today. Starbucks at six,” Anne informed him, her face glowing pink with excitement.

“Oh…” Cole’s face fell. “Oh, Anne, I’m not sure that’s a date.”

“What? Why?”

“He asked me if it suited to meet at that time today too, for our English project. I told him no, I have a bunch of stuff to do but that 7.30 suited a little better. Anne, I’m sorry.”

“No – no, don’t be,” she reassured him. She felt so foolish for thinking it was anything more. Sure, she knew Roy long enough to consider him a ‘friend’ of sorts, but she never really had much evidence to think he thought anymore of her except for his ‘beguiling’ comment at the ruins a month back. She ran her hands over her face, hiding her disappointment when Diana’s voice cut across her black thoughts.

“But…Why did he ask Anne to come an hour and a half earlier then?” Diana puzzled, and with that simple query, Anne felt her face illuminate again.

“Yes! That’s true. I mean, it could be a possibility still, couldn’t it?” She grinned as Diana nodded enthusiastically and Cole shrugged a yes.

“Just be careful, Anne,” he warned. “I don’t know what it is, but there is something about him that I can’t quite lay my finger on. Be careful he doesn’t break your heart.”

**********

At a quarter past 5, Gilbert Blythe heaved the last of 10 boxes of old medical files onto a shelf in a dusty storeroom. He clapped his hands together and brushed down his jeans, standing back to survey his work.

There was a grunt from a figure behind him, a petite blonde who was pushing another heavy box through the doorway behind him.

“Another one, Mr. Blythe, for your troubles,” she said, playfully, straightening up and joining him at his side, both collectively looking for a space for it to fit.

“If we move these two that way, it could slide in there,” Gilbert suggested, pointing out the boxes he was referring to. Gilbert began volunteering at Dr Ward’s office a month back thinking it would give him an insight into a doctor’s busy life of treating patients, testing medicine and reading and sharing advancements in medical studies. Instead, he found himself pushing paper, answering phones, stacking boxes, and, when Dr Ward was out of office, chuckling mercilessly with Winnifred Rose, a first year in college who decided to change her course of study to medicine and was now seeking out the same experience as Gilbert. She was amiable; a year older than him, but with a similar sense of humour and matching disappointment in their experiences as medical volunteers. They had become fast friends.

“We’ll lift it on the count of three,” Winnifred suggested, gesturing down to the large box on the ground.

“Don’t be silly, I’ll get it.”  
He stooped and, bracing himself, lifted the heavy load off the ground with a groan and slid it onto the gap they had made.

“There. Now are we done?” he asked, turning to her smiling.

“I think you’ve earned a coffee, Mr Blythe. My treat.”

He opened his mouth to protest; he had a lot of homework to get through and should really be going, but she had already disappeared through the door and was collecting her bag from behind the desk at reception.

At 6 O’ clock, Gilbert was seated in the Starbucks on Allen Street, across from Winnifred Rose, a flat white in front of him. Winnie was telling him an anecdote about her father, a man who seemed to have friends in high places, but a riotous sense of humour. As she finished her story, giggling, he noticed familiar, flame-red hair in the queue. He watched as she selected a pastry from the glass fronted unit, carrot cake no doubt, her favourite, and smiled up at a figure beside her. That figure, he realised with a pang in his chest, was Roy Gardner.

Anne and Roy collected their coffees from the edge of the till.

“They never spell my name right,” she huffed with a smile, playing pretend that it didn’t annoy her. “It’s Anne with an E, makes it so much more distinguished.”

“I’ll go back and ask them to change it, shall I?. “Add on an E or I’ll be speaking to your manager”,” he joked. She laughed along with him. Roy was quiet normally, brooding, but he had a gentle sense of humour and she enjoyed his company. She searched for an empty table in a quiet corner when her eyes connected with Gilbert, sitting across from a beautiful girl with a button nose and golden blonde curls springing from her head like a halo.

She raised her hand in gesture of a greeting as they approached and Gilbert half-stood up and then seemed to think better of it, sinking back into his seat.

“Hi there,” he greeted as Anne and Roy stopped at his table.

“Hi.” Anne looked between him and Winnie, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh, this is Winnie,” he fumbled, “from Dr Ward’s office. Winnie, this is my friend Anne - and Roy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Anne smiled, not unkindly, but she was baffled to what Gilbert was doing out for coffee with a pretty blonde when he was meant to be meeting her beautiful, black-haired best friend this evening.

“We’re just grabbing a quick coffee after all the rearranging we’ve been doing today,” he rambled, trying to fill the silence, embarrassed at having been seen with another girl by the very girl that haunts his every moment. “Dr Ward lumped all these old boxes of papers he can’t get rid of onto us – pretty heavy work.” He smiled a tight little smile, nodding his head slightly, eyes still on Anne.

“Good job you’re so strong then, isn’t it, Mr Blythe?” Winnifred crooned, and Anne felt an unsettling dizziness come over her. She was flirting! Her voice the very essence of Lauren Bacall purring “You know how to whistle, don’t you Steve?”

Gilbert shifted uncomfortably at her attention, huffing a quick, mirthless laugh.

“We’re just grabbing a coffee and then Cole is joining us to start our English assignment,” Anne explained, suddenly aware that she was here with Roy and was neglecting him.

“Oh, you picked your poet?” Gilbert asked, interested now in a shared topic. He envied Roy having Anne in his group. He normally always worked with her and felt a little like he had been replaced since Roy arrived, recalling the look of enchanted terror he had seen on Anne's face when Roy approached her in English. He would have to make do with Billy and Paul but knew the workload wouldn’t be shared evenly. A rock would have a better work ethic. And would probably be cleverer, too. 

“Walt Whitman,” Roy stated, his voice bored. Anne flinched at his tone. She knew that he and Gilbert weren’t close, or even friendly really, but he could have tried to be more polite.

“I love Walt Whitman. My dad used to read him to me. I’ve kept all his old anthologies,” Gilbert shared, his eyes glazing over as if lost in a memory. Anne cringed at Roy’s insensitivity before scolding herself, because he wasn’t to know about what happened to Gilbert’s dad. It’s not like he talked about him too often, and when he did it was only to Anne, silent tears rolling down his face as she hugged him close.

“I’ll let you be off, then. You have things to do,” Gilbert smiled and Anne and Roy moved to a table by the back, her sitting her coffee in front of her, gesturing animatedly as she spoke, one hand tucking a loose strand of hair that worked free from her braids behind her ear, exposing the creamy pale skin of her neck and the smattering of freckles that flecked her skin there.

“She seems nice,” Winnie observed, and then launched into a tale of a holiday she had in Paris and how this very area always reminded her of a little street off Montmartre where they served the best milky coffee she had ever tasted in cups as big as bowls. Gilbert nodded along, emitting an ‘oh’ or ‘is that right?’ where appropriate but his gaze never wavered from Anne.

Anne throwing her head back laughing, although Roy Gardner looked so moody Gilbert couldn’t imagine anything he said would be funny. Anne twisting a plait around her fingers, a sweet smile tugging on her lips. Anne wrapping her long, elegant fingers around her coffee cup before raising it to her mouth.

‘Ann’ was scribbled on the side of it, he noticed. She would have pretended it didn’t annoy her. He smiled softly; he knew that it would.

**********

A week later, Anne huddled at the base of large oak tree beside the running tracks in school, wrapped in a midnight blue coat that flared over her hips gently and a wonky handmade scarf; her first attempt at knitting. Despite the damp autumn chill in the air, she decided to have her lunch outside today, listening to the wind rustle the golden leaves in the canopy above her. She enjoyed her own company sometimes; just her, nature and a good book, and today her lunchtime companion was a dog-eared copy of _Vilette_ by Charlotte Bronte. Anne was entangled in the world of Lucy Snowe, lost in what she felt where striking similarities; Lucy not being very beautiful and destined for a life of teaching too, when a pair of familiar red Converse high-tops with scuffed toes stopped beside her.

She looked up, squinting in the weak sunlight, to see Gilbert smiling down at her, his red plaid coat buttoned to his neck. She loved when he wore that coat. It suited him perfectly.

“I brought you some tea,” he said, holding a disposable cup out to her and then sitting opposite her on the grass when she received it with thanks.

“You sure know how to treat a girl,” she cooed, and took a sip gratefully, letting the amber liquid warm her through. “What’s up? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” It was true. Their walks to school were really the only time she seen him now, between his apprenticeship and everything else he had going on; medical school applications, Dellie and Bash, homework, _Diana_.

“I’ve been busy. Spent all week in the library trying to finish our poetry report, _on my own,_ might I add, because Billy and Paul are both too completely _stupid_ to know what they were doing.”

Anne laughed. Gilbert was rarely cruel and when he was, it was almost always well deserved.

“Did you get it finished alright?”

He nodded in confirmation, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. He looked almost nervous when he asked his next question.

“Did you and Roy get on ok last week, then?”

“At Starbucks?”

Another nod.

“Yeah, really well actually. He is funny and super clever, Gil. I think you two would get along pretty well actually.”

“Was it, like… a date?” he asked, tearing blades of grass from the ground and letting them fall through his fingers. Anne watched him, curious to what had gotten into him. He didn’t seem at all like himself, not meeting her eyes, head ducked like his question was posed for the earth to answer and not her.

“Yes, I think so. He seemed pretty nervous. Not being able to focus on anything and really jittery. It was – I don’t know – nice? Boys are never nervous around me.”

Gilbert’s eyes crinkled slightly in the corners as a gentle smile played on his lips. “I don’t know about that.” Anne scoffed, raising her shoulders gently before letting them fall.

“I do. I don’t know though. Roy’s different. He’s sensitive but kind of dark too. I like that. I like _him_.” She felt her cheeks flush, the heat prickling her skin there. She was embarrassed to say it out loud, especially in front of Gilbert, her stomach twisting into a tight knot.

“Oh.” Gilbert cleared his throat and looked down at his hands, turning them over as if they were the most interesting things in the world. “That’s really - really great, Anne. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” she answered, but her brow furrowed, a little wary of his reaction. “What about you? How are you and your _crush_ doing?”

“What?” His head snapped up to look at her now, his eyes scanning her face intently as if she was a treasure map and he was looking for clues. “I don’t know - fine I guess.”

“Well you better tell her to look out for Winnie,” Anne laughed, her hand slapping playfully at his thigh as if to emphasise her point. “She fancies you, big time.”

“No, she doesn’t,” he smirked, leaning back onto his hands and tilting his face to the sun. “Plus, I’m not interested so what does it matter. We’re just friends.”

“ _Good job you’re so strong then, Mr Blythe,”_ Anne mocked, crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out at him.

He rolled his eyes at her. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were jealous!”

“Jealous?” Anne howled, a cackle of laughter ripping from her throat. “Don’t flatter yourself. Have I not just told you the best-looking guy I’ve ever met took me for a coffee?”

“Ah, now I’m jealous. I always thought I was the best-looking guy you ever met.” She jabbed at his side, little pointed digs with her index finger as they both shared a laugh.

“Look, I didn’t come out here to be attacked _,_ ” Gilbert grinned, rummaging in his backpack and pulling an old copy of _Gone with the Wind_ from his bag, the gold embossed cover glinting in the sun.

“You finished it,” Anne squeaked, clapping her hands with glee. Gilbert had finished _The Princess Bride_ three weeks before, concluding that it was “sort of ridiculous but he loved it. Ten out of ten stars.” She decided to give him something a little heavier for his next reading assignment.

“It took me long enough. It’s so long!”

“Well,” Anne pressed. “What did you think?”

“I _think_ Scarlett and Rhett are both pretty selfish, to be honest. They were really only concerned with themselves - real Billy and Josie types.”

“Scarlett is _not_ selfish,” Anne argued. “She is tough and pragmatic and a relentless optimist.”

“She’s awful! She’s manipulative and petty,” he shot back, grinning at how Anne’s skin began to redden as her temper flared. He loved when he disagreed with her, revelling in how passionate she became; arms folded, skin flushed, nose upturned haughtily. “And she’s simpering around after someone who would never love her back and…” His voice trailed off. He actually couldn’t fault her for that. It hit a little too close to home.

“She’s hopeful,” Anne scolded. “I think every person who feels unrequited love always needs to be a _little_ hopeful, don’t you?”

“I guess,” he agreed, knowing that as much as it hurt him, hope always lived within him; a little flickering flame that he cupped protectively from draughts, one blowing a gale in the form of a handsome, mysterious British guy. “But it is _super_ racist.”

“Oh, for sure.”

They both dissolved into laughter at how quickly Anne’s defensiveness dropped when she was faced with an element of the story even _she_ couldn’t see any good in.

“I suppose it’s time for the next one then,” Anne concluded. “Let’s see what else I’ve packed.” She handed him a pale blue book, covered in white and red butterflies; _Captain Corelli’s Mandolin_.

“You know the drill,” she told him as he stowed it away, smiling. He was really enjoying having something new to read. It was something special shared by just Anne and him, her hand-selecting texts she thought he might enjoy, but he couldn’t help comparing himself to the men in these books and feel a twinge of despondency in his chest when he realised he would never be brooding and mysterious, and a bit of a rogue. He was just…him. And Anne didn’t want him.

As they settled back into friendly conversation, Josie Pye approached from behind the running track, having watched Billy run laps for 40 minutes, cheering loudly and waving when he passed.

“Hi, you two,” she purred, flicking her long hair over her shoulder and inspecting her nails. “Just a reminder that I am 18 on Saturday and in honour of it being Hallowe’en, it’s a costume party. I hope to see you both there?”

It wasn’t really a question as much as a demand. And Anne loved Josie’s birthday parties. They were always costume parties, and she lit a huge bonfire in the firepit that sat centrally in the enormous garden to the rear of her house. Jane would make a playlist that was blasted through huge speakers and they all danced in the light of the moon. Josie’s birthday parties were the only good thing that came from being Josie’s friend.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Anne grinned.

“Good. Oh, and Anne, ask that scruffy boy that works at your house to come. He was fun at the pier.”

“You mean Jerry? Josie, he was in our class last year.”

“Whatever.” Josie rolled her eyes and turned to leave before whirling back. “And bring Roy.”

Then she slinked away, leaving Anne elated and Gilbert crestfallen. One night with Anne and without Roy would have been nice.

“It’s fitting that her birthday is Hallowe’en,” he murmured. “I think she might just be the devil.”

**********

Josie’s home was a large, red brick, plantation style house, with expansive landscaped gardens and a cobbled patio that had a huge firepit in the middle of it, already aflame, the embers swirling and dancing as the sky turned black. Anne and Diana arrived together, in their matching costumes. Anne was dressed in a pale golden mini dress with a flared skirt and floating sleeves, mini sunbursts embroidered on to the gauzy material, peppered with golden sequins. She had golden eyeshadow buffed onto her eyelids, expertly applied by Diana, and a golden glitter headdress that encircled her head like a halo, her hair falling in bouncy curls down her back. Diana wore the same, but silver, and her headdress was decorated in stars. The Sun and the Moon, they decided, their costumes designed around Anne’s fiery hair and Diana’s pale, ivory skin. They met a few of their friends as they entered; Ruby and Jane dressed as Romi and Michelle and recreating the pose from the movie cover to anybody who asked who they were meant to be. Cole was a mime and Tillie was dressed as Maleficent, her long black dress hugging her curves. Roy didn’t dress up, Anne noticed with a twinge of disappointment, claiming costume parties “weren’t his thing” when she asked him teasingly what he was meant to be.

Anne made her way towards the heat of the firepit, the music blasting over the improvised dancefloor on the lawn. She found Gilbert there, laughing with Moody and Charlie. He was dressed in a billowy white shirt and black trousers, a plastic sword looped through his belt.

“Hey,” he cried enthusiastically when he spotted her. He cuddled her to his chest in a tight squeeze. She giggled, the tinkle of it muffled against his shirt. He was already feeling the effects of his drink, she could tell. He was always so much more affectionate when he was drinking. She didn’t mind, his hugs were the best.

“You look _sooo_ beautiful,” he yelled over the music, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel the hotness of his breath on her skin. It made her feel hot all over.

“Thanks,” she laughed, swatting him away.

“No, it should be criminal how beautiful you look,” he insisted. “People are meant to look stupid on Hallowe’en.” He gestured to his own costume.

She laughed a little too enthusiastically to cover up the flutter in her chest she felt at his attention and the blush that she could feel colour her skin.

“Speaking of which, what are you meant to be?” she asked, cocking her eyebrow. A pirate? A revolutionary Frenchman? She wasn’t sure. He pulled the sword from his belt, brandishing it in front of him with a flourish.

“My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

“Gil!” she squealed, pealing with laughter. “That’s amazing, I love it!”

“Thank you,” he grinned, looping his sword back into his belt. “I was inspired.” She smiled at his reference, knowing he meant _The Princess Bride_ book he had enjoyed so much.

“Let me get you a drink,” he insisted, and he ambled off towards the kitchen.

Anne was alone again and looked around for Diana, or Roy, but neither could be seen. She circled the fire pit looking for Cole, but he was flirting with a boy from the year below, and she decided against interrupting, knowing she would be taking her life into her hands if she did. There weren’t too many boys in school who were out and so Cole was normally the one at the end of the night who dragged the others away from some drunken boy who had crashed the party and made sure everyone had left with their jackets and phones. Anne and Diana always teased that he was the ‘mum’ of their group. She smiled as she passed him, hoping it ended well. Cole was the sweetest; honest and caring but with a quick wit. To Anne, he deserved the world.

She found Tillie and Ruby instead, sitting on a bench, sharing some gossip and a bottle full of cheap white wine.

“Hey girls,” she greeted, sitting beside them.

“Anne, you look so amazing tonight,” Tillie told her sincerely. “Everyone is talking about you.” Anne blushed. She wasn’t used to attention or compliments and never knew how to take them, normally resorting to denial or hostility. Tonight, she decided to be gracious.

“Thank you. I love your costumes, too.”

The girls chattered, conversation breaking when the trilling piano and insistent beat of _Dancing Queen_ by ABBA began. They cheered whoops of excitement.

“I love this song!” Anne shrieked over the loud bass.

“Such a Jane song,” Tillie replied, nodding. Jane was always in charge of playlists, her eclectic musical tastes always combining old favourites with hidden gems the others had long forgotten about.

“Let’s dance,” Ruby squeaked, taking both girls hands in hers and making her way to the dance floor.

Gilbert made his way back to the patio, just as the music began to change to _Cruel Summer_ by Taylor Swift, pushing through the throng of people to see Anne spinning in the fire light, skin glowing, flames illuminating the embellishments on her dress and sequins, glittering reflections mingling with her freckles like constellations, and igniting her flame red hair like Etaine; goddess of the Sun.

He felt his breath catch in his throat as he crept closer, glancing at the crowd around him to see if they were as entranced by this vision as he was. Her movements were delicate and graceful, pirouetting like a prima ballerina and she grinned as she spotted him, coaxing him to join them with a wave of her hand.

Inhaling deeply to steady himself before he joined her, something struck him like a lightning bolt, surging through him like a shock of electric. _Love_ , he thought. _This was love_. He always knew he _liked_ her; a schoolboy’s crush, somewhat startling in its intensity. But it was never a crush; it had always been love. It made his heart beat wildly, and his breath hitch and his blood coarse harder, pump faster. Here he was, a boy on the precipice of becoming a man, hopelessly _in love_ with the best friend he ever had. He gazed at her, feeling his heart swell with adoration for this beautiful girl. She was a celestial being, his goddess of the Sun, and he was always orbiting around her _._ He was done for.

Anne threw her arms around Gilbert as he joined them, taking his hand in hers and pulling him in a circle with her. He was a little awkward when he danced, like Joseph Gordon-Levitt in _500 Days of Summer,_ but he committed whole-heartedly and with little inhibition. She loved dancing with him. They spun, around the floor, legs kicking, arms flailing around, screaming out lyrics.

_“For whatever it’s worth, I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard!”_

Anne collapsed against Gilbert, laughing into his chest as Taylor Swift’s anthem morphed into the swelling introduction to _Purple Rain._ Ruby and Tillie were clasped together now, spinning slowly and unsteadily, their wine beginning to take its toll.

Anne was very aware of her hands pressed to Gilbert’s chest, his heart hammering under her palm.

“Dance with me,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, making her skin tingle and a shiver to tremble down her spine. He drew her close to him, pressing their bodies together, slipping his hand around her waist and igniting a blazing trail along her skin where it brushed, resting on her lower back. He tangled her fingers with his, lifting their entwined hands and resting them on his chest over his heart. They began to turn, shuffling slowly in a circle, swaying to the intoxicating melody. She lay her head against his chest, eyes closed, losing herself in the lyrics and the heat of his body and the feeling of his thumb rubbing gently at her back. She was so contented, here in his arms, spinning slowly like nectar-drunk bees. She turned her face up towards him and he lowered his head to rest against hers. She found herself staring into his eyes; honey coloured flecks swirled with green and warm brown, darkening as he gazed at her.

“Anne,” he murmured. He said her name like it was a sacred prayer, the most reverent thing to ever spill from his lips. He said her name like he worshipped it.

“Yes?” she breathed, something in the tone of his voice making her stomach flutter and her heart to beat rapidly against her ribcage.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Yes?” she urged gently, but a brazen, drunken cackle drew them back to reality; to where they were. Standing on the grass in Josie Pye’s back garden, surrounded by rowdy classmates. Anne looked for the source of the laugh that broke their spell and seen Diana stumbling around with Fred Wright, as he dragged her this way and that in the semblance of a waltz, Jerry Baynard standing close by, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. When Diana spotted Anne and Gilbert, her mouth dropped open. Gilbert’s hand was still on Anne’s waist and she pushed him away, angry at herself for dancing with him in the first place. How could she have done that to Diana? She was her best friend, and here Anne was dancing with her secret boyfriend.

“Come with me,” Anne ordered Gilbert, clasping his wrist and dragging him towards Diana, all the while looking for an excuse to escape the cloying feeling in her chest from standing so close to him.

“Dance with him,” she ordered Diana, joining their hands and spotting her excuse to go. “I’m going to talk to Roy.” She pointed him out to them, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he disappeared into the shadow of Josie’s house. And then she ran off, pushing through the crowd and up the steps towards the house to put some distance between her and Gilbert and something she _knew_ she would regret.

Gilbert and Diana shared a puzzled look, and he let go of her hand, leaning in to say, “I don’t know what got into her.”  
“I do,” Diana replied, and she shrugged and smiled a knowing smile.

Gilbert’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He didn’t know what she meant by that. Anne liked Roy. She let him know as much earlier that week under the tree. She was excited he liked her back. The pair turned away from the dancers and back towards their group of friends, shocked to see Josie Pye sitting in the middle of them, her pretty face streaked with tears.

“What’s wrong, Josie?” Diana asked, dropping to her knees in front of her friend and stroking her arm comfortingly.

“It’s…It’s Billy…” Josie sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

“What happened?” Gilbert asked, while the others cooed and made soothing noises.

“He took me up the stairs. Said he wanted to kiss the birthday girl in private, away from everyone watching. I went with him, up to my room. And then he – he…”

“He what, Josie?” Ruby pressed.

“He touched me,” Josie spat out before choking on a sob. “I told him no, pushed him away. He said I would like it, but I just ran away.”

“What a little fucker,” Jane seethed, which brought a welcome chuckle from Josie.

“Just stay with us, Josie. We won’t let him lay a finger on you,” Tillie reassured her. Josie took Diana’s hand in one of hers, Jane’s in the other and smiled a watery smile to her friends.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t ever say it, but I don’t know where I would be without you all.”

**********

Anne searched the greenhouse, the sun-room and the landscaped area in the garden that led to a paved clearing with a fountain and a marble bench, but she couldn’t find Roy anywhere. She decided then to slip down the alleyway at the side of the house by the garage and check the front garden. He was probably smoking, preferring to have a cigarette in solitude because people always tutted and shook their heads when he lit up around them. Anne understood that, disliking the smell of cigarette smoke that normally clung to her after a night in his company, but she felt it was worth it if she got to spend time with him.

As she made her way through the alleyway, she could make out the silhouette of a tall frame come towards her in the darkness.

“I was looking for you,” she called out to him.

“Oh really?” the voice answered. Her blood ran cold. That wasn’t Roy. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was the arrogant voice of Billy Andrews.

“Billy, I thought you were someone else,” she explained when he reached her, her heart thudding from fear at the way he was leering at her, his eyes dragging up over her legs, chest and hair.

“You look really sexy tonight,” he growled coarsely, his hands gripping onto her shoulders, pinning her against the wall roughly and pressing his weight onto her as she struggled against him.

“Billy, let me go,” she ordered, her voice sounding assured, despite the fear that was gnawing at her insides.

“Not a chance,” he scoffed, and his hands groped crudely at her waist. “All dressed up like that. You’re basically begging for it.” Anne tried to pull away from him, recoiling at the smell of sweat from his skin and beer on his breath.

“Let me go,” she screeched and with a quick surge of adrenaline, she brought her knee upwards connecting it sharply with his groin.

“You little bitch!” he howled. She attempted to push him away, but he scuffled to keep her pinned in front of him.

“Hey, what’s happening here?”

Anne looked around to find Roy striding up the alley from the direction of the front of the house.

“Alright, Gardner,” Billy jeered. “Don’t think I need to explain to you what’s happening, do I, buddy? My girl here got herself all tarted up for me tonight and I’m just enjoying it.”

“Find that hard to believe, _buddy,”_ Roy stressed, “when Anne is seeing me.”

Anne stared at him open mouthed. If she wasn’t so afraid and disgusted and mortified, she probably would have felt elation.

“If you don’t mind, we would like to get back to the party.”

Billy eyed Roy and, seemingly deciding to not get testy with someone who had been kicked out of school before, he let Anne go and backed away, skulking towards the crowd and the music. Anne slumped to the ground, curling her knees towards herself. Roy knelt beside her and pulled her into a hug.

“You’re alright. You’ll be alright,” he whispered, and Anne nodded against his chest, feeling numbness spiked with a ripple of disappointment that it was Roy’s bony fingers rubbing her back, and not the soft, subtle strokes of Gilbert’s hands.

**********

Gilbert sat among the crowd, a cup of water in his hand after deciding he definitely had _too_ much to drink tonight. He almost told Anne. He couldn’t believe it. And after what happened Josie, he felt it better to have his senses about him. He watched his friends dance; Diana and Tillie spinning each other, Jane, Cole and Josie swaying with arms looped around waists, Charlie and Moody bouncing awkwardly on their toes. He smiled, overcome with affection for them in his tipsy state. It was then that a pretty blonde in a pink, faux fur trimmed mini dress came tumbling from the crowd towards him.

“Quite a party, isn’t it?” Ruby asked shyly, taking his cup from him and gulping from it.

He nodded in agreement, and tensed as Ruby shuffled closer to him, the bare skin of her arm rubbing against his. His eyes flashed to Moody, hoping he didn’t see this. He needed to escape.

Ruby leant towards him, reaching out to take his face in her hands and turning it towards her. Her eyes were wide, and he could see her lip tremble.

“Gilbert,” she began, eagerly looking into his face. “Do you want to kiss me?”

He froze, his face stricken. _She’s drunk,_ he thought. _She’d never be so bold if she wasn’t._ How did he do this? How did he navigate this without hurting her feelings?

“Uhm…Ruby,” he began, and then an idea struck him. “It wouldn’t be fair on a friend of mine, who has a really big crush on you.” He would use this as an opportunity for Moody. That was the right way to play this.

“Really?” she asked, jerking her head away from him in confusion. Ruby wasn’t very forward normally, but she was confident in her looks and wasn’t very used to boys not accepting her advances since her makeover in the summer. Not that she made many advances. She rejected theirs mainly, waiting for Gilbert to realise that he was irreversibly in love with her. It was proving to be a long wait. But a thought sprung to her mind and a playful smile appeared on her lips, skin glowing as she batted her eyelashes at him.

“Oh Gilbert,” she gasped. “You are such a good friend, not acting on your feelings for the sake of your friendship.”

Oh, dear. _Turns out that wasn’t the right way to play it at all,_ Gilbert thought, panicked. He wanted her to ask who this friend was so he could encourage her to give Moody a chance, not endear her to him more.

“Ruby, I’m sorry.” He shot quickly to his feet. “I have to go.”

As he bolted up the stone steps towards the house he spotted Anne round the corner, Roy’s hand resting on her lower back. _They look like a couple,_ he thought, stilling as they came toward him. He noticed that Anne’s makeup was smudged, her lipstick rubbed off her mouth. Her clothes were dishevelled, the neckline of her dress pulled wide, exposing the delicate freckles and creamy skin of her décolletage. Roy had his beaten leather jacket draped around Anne’s shoulders.

“Everything alright?” Gilbert asked, trying to appear casual despite knowing his eyebrows were drawn together in a deep furrow and his fingers were flexing into fists.

“Yes,” Anne snapped, hurrying to right her clothes as a blush crept up her neck to bloom across her cheeks.

“Okay then,” he replied, and he turned quickly, stalking towards the house. He felt his jaw clench, his shoulders rise as his muscles pulled taught with tension. When he reached the interior of the large house, out of sight to the revellers on the patio, he fell against the wall, sinking down on his hunkers. As his breath choked out in short, sharp gasps, he clutched at his heart, pressing shaking hands into his chest. He screwed his eyes tight, attempting to shun the scene he had just witnessed from his memory.

 _Why was she so sharp with him,_ he wondered, _unless she was embarrassed at having just been caught with Roy?_ To the despairing boy crumpled on the floor, it was obvious. Roy and Anne had been getting to know each other a _lot_ better, hidden amongst the stillness and shadows around the side of the house. A fatal blow, when Gilbert had only realised how in love with her he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a huge thank you to those who are reading this little tale. I'm really enjoying reading the comments and predictions left; it's exciting getting feedback! Of course, Gilbert has just realised the depth of his feelings for Anne which makes her attentions to Roy all the harder to deal with. And I felt the sexual assault story line resonated with so many people that when it made it's way into my tale, it was important that it stayed there. Anne and Josie are both super wonderful and brave so Billy will get his comeuppance soon. I'm having the best time rediscovering my love of writing through this story, so thank you for being such a lovely audience :) 
> 
> PS: I'm a teacher so I apologise if any classroom scene sounds like a lesson plan. Some things are too difficult to turn off!


	4. 'Love is a temporary madness' Captain Corelli's Mandolin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne faces unexpected consequences after the events of Josie's party and Gilbert receives some friendly advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> I'm back with another chapter. It turns out that lockdown life serves my creativity quite well, especially when we have had such beautiful weather in Ireland.  
> I hope everyone is well!
> 
> And without further ado, on to the next part...

The morning of the 1st of November brought great, thundering, grey clouds and sheets of torrential rain spilling from the sky and bouncing onto the tarmac, pattering against the window. The Blythe-Lacroix kitchen, however, was bright and cosy; the radio playing some Sunday morning easy listening, little Delphine humming along from her perch at the kitchen table, stubby little fingers clutching at chunky crayons and dragging them haphazardly across a sheet of white paper.

Bash was by the cooker, shaking his head and tutting at the rain as he stirred at a thick pancake batter.

“A little more milk, m’ love, and then we’ll fry these lovely pancakes up for breakfast. Would you like that?”

Delphine nodded, sticking her tongue out and eyeing her picture, adding a few more lines of orange crayon across the centre.

“That’s a very pretty picture, Dellie!” Bash praised, standing behind his daughter and looking down at the drawing. It was nothing more than some coloured scribbles, but she was so attentive to it he knew he would have to find room to stick it up on the fridge door. “Who is in your picture?”

“That’s daddy…” Dellie said, stubby little finger stabbing at a blue ball with a pink line through it. “He’s very happy.”

“Oh, he looks so happy. He’s very handsome too,” he said, tickling her sides which elicited charming giggles.

“Is that Dellie?” He pointed to a sunshine yellow line, shorter than the rest. “She’s very pretty.”

Dellie nodded. “And Uncle Gilby.”

She pointed to an orange and green blob, and mournfully said, “He’s very sad…”

“Oh, poor Uncle Gilby. Why is he sad?” Bash asked, curiously.

“Dunno,” Dellie shrugged, and went back to scrawling coloured lines over her page.

Bash kissed the top of his daughter’s head, thinking about the boy upstairs who he heard creep through the house last night. Gilbert arrived home earlier than Bash was expecting, and Bash was thankful. He was exhausted after a long evening of playing ‘Fairy Octopus’ with Dellie, her two new obsessions rolled into one make-believe world. When he eventually got her down to sleep, he sat down to some paperwork, eyes stinging with lack of sleep, and when he heard Gilbert creep through the house and closing his bedroom door as quietly as he could in spite of the squeaking hinges. Satisfied that he was home safe, Bash closed his laptop with a click and let himself sleep.

Now, however, he felt like kicking himself for not knocking on Gilbert’s door and asking about his night. He knew if Dellie thought he was sad, there probably was some choked ‘coughs’ (Bash would ask if he had been crying but that a cough is what Gilbert would _insist_ the sounds were) that could be heard through the shared wall between Gilbert and Delphine’s bedrooms.

“Maybe you can give him a big hug when he gets up, to make him all better,” Bash suggested and ruffled Delphine’s dark curls gently. He dropped a kiss to her cheek and went back to making pancakes.

It was another 20 minutes later when heavy footsteps descended the old wooden staircase, and Gilbert Blythe entered the kitchen, yawning and scraping his hands through his hair. Bash eyed him from where he was sitting at the table; he was in his pyjama bottoms and a navy-blue t-shirt, and despite the puffy sleepiness that still settled on his face, Bash could see a sadness there, swirling in his red-rimmed, expressive eyes.

“Uncle Gilby! I drew you a picture,” Delphine cried, hopping from the wooden chair she was kneeling on and rounding the table to him. He swept her up into his arms and settled on a kitchen chair with her on his knee.

“Let me see! Oh, wow, Dellie! What a lovely picture. Thank you so much!”

He kissed her cheek as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Are you not sad now?” she asked.

Gilbert smiled at her, his face warm and glowing with love for his niece. “How can I be sad when you make me so happy!”

She bounced of his knee and toddled off to play with some toy cars that she spotted lying on the tiles, running them in circles around her. Bash put three pancakes onto a plate and smothered them in Maple syrup and a handful of blueberries.

“Sunday morning breakfast,” he smiled, pushing the plate across the table to the boy who gratefully accepted it. “You want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Gilbert asked, keeping his face trained on the food in front of him.

“Well, Dellie just told me that you were sad, she even drew a picture about it. Now, we can pretend that she just made it up, but I don’t really know why a three-year-old would start drawing sad uncles with no real reason or explanation, _or_ we can talk about it, which I think is a better idea. A problem shared…” Bash trailed off, Gilbert looking at him now, an annoyed smirk twisting his mouth.

“You don’t have to take all my problems on, you know. I’m a big boy. I can handle things myself.”

“I have no doubt of that, but sometimes even big boys need to talk.”

Gilbert looked back at his plate. _That was insensitive to say,_ he thought, annoyed with himself. Bash had attended sessions with a therapist after Mary’s death and had benefitted a lot from it, too. He didn’t mean to belittle him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm,” he said plainly.

“I know you didn’t. And neither do I. I only want to help,” Bash assured him, his tone fatherly and loving.

Gilbert gulped back, before stating plainly, “It’s Anne.”

“Oh! I should have known,” Bash laughed. “What has our flame-headed queen been up to now?”

Bash was a huge fan of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. She was funny and kind and a good friend to Gilbert. She was also, he felt, very oblivious. How she couldn’t tell Gilbert was head-over-heels for her, he wasn’t sure. Or maybe she could and just didn’t care, but Bash seen how she would look at Gilbert when his back was turned, or how her face glowed with pride when he rambled on about something he was excited about; some vague medical research that had Bash lost almost as soon as the conversation started, whereas Anne would prompt and ask questions and share enthusiasm.

“She’s seeing someone,” Gilbert sighed, shoulders rolling forward, pushing his food around his plate. “I don’t know how to feel about it – I’m worried she won’t want me around anymore. I - I just don’t want it to change our friendship.” Gilbert rushed out the last of his statement, knowing his body language had probably said too much but hoping Bash couldn’t read him well enough to know how he felt about her. Bash teased enough about his being a ‘teacher’s pet’ and a ‘pretty boy’. He didn’t need him teasing about Anne too.

“Sure, Blythe.” Bash reached out and covered Gilbert’s hand with his own. “You know, it’s ok to love someone. It’s ok to feel hurt if that person might not feel the same way back. Maybe she needs a little time, she could change her mind.”

Gilbert huffed out a soft laugh, before he snapped his head up to look at Bash’s face. Bash laughed heartily at his shock; wide eyes and gaping mouth. “But wait, I don’t love her…”

“Blythe,” Bash interrupted, raising his eyebrow, mouth quirked into a smirking smile. “You’re not fooling anyone, kid.”

Gilbert sighed heavily, defeated, his head sinking into his upturned palms.

“I don’t know what to do, Bash! She’s my best friend but I can’t be around her if she’s with someone else. It wouldn’t be fair on them and it’s not fair on me either. I can’t take it.”

“Well then, maybe a little distance wouldn’t do any harm? Let yourself spend time with other people and maybe you’ll find you can look at them and be happy because you are too.”

Gilbert smiled softly. “Thanks, Bash. You know I don’t tell you enough, but I love you, man.”

Bash clutched his hand to his chest, dramatically, feigning a swoon. “Wow, Blythe, you move fast. I’ve been waiting for you to come to your senses for too long. I’m blushing!”

Gilbert rolled his eyes and shook his head, good humouredly.

“Nah, I joke. I love you too, kid,” Bash patted Gilbert’s hand again. “And distance, my friend, will make or break you both. Trust me.”

Gilbert finished his breakfast, pondering what Bash had said. He knew Anne wouldn’t change her mind about him, but he did need to change his mind about her. Distance, that was all. He could get over this.

**********

Monday morning came with more rain, and Anne stood at Green Gables Gate at half 8, under the cover of her jolly, rainbow printed umbrella. She looked up and down the street, watching for the shape of Gilbert Blythe to emerge from the misty gloom of the morning and the grey curtains of rain spilling from the heavens.

She waited.

And then waited a little more.

Until, eventually, at ten minutes to 9, when the cold had soaked into her, chilling her through and numbing her hands, she decided to walk on alone. She was worried. He never missed their walks, not without a message her to tell her he was sick that morning and wouldn’t be in or was running late.

When she arrived at school, concern had gnawed at her insides. She had sent Gilbert two texts asking if he was ok and to message her back because she was worried something had happened, which weren’t answered. She considered ringing Bash to check in when she walked through the entrance to Avonlea High, cloying heat sinking into her and prickling her cold-numbed skin. As she wandered to her locker, imagination conjuring up terrible images of what had become of Gilbert Blythe (Jump attack? Car accident that he performed CPR at? Alien abduction?), she became aware of eyes on her, whisperings as she passed. She smoothed her hands over her damp hair and rubbed at her cheeks. Was there something wrong? Did she have something on her face?

She swung open the door to her locker, busying herself with rearranging the things inside to distract from the whisperings and curious looks and sniggering voices. _What was happening?_ Then her locker door was pushed shut by a small, pale hand. Anne followed the limb, and found a glowering Josie Pye beside her, eyes narrowed, a scowl painted on her pretty face.

“Josie…”

“What are you playing at, Anne?” Josie snapped, interrupting. “I can’t believe you! I always knew you were jealous of me, but this is a new low, even for someone as trashy as you.”

“Josie, what are you talking about?”

“Don’t you dare stand there and play dumb,” Josie screeched. “Everybody knows. It’s all that they’re talking about! Poor Josie Pye, and Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, who had _sex_ with her boyfriend, _on her birthday!”_

“Josie…I didn’t, I swear,” Anne choked out, her throat growing thick with tears.

“Save it, Anne. It’s all he’s talking about. You knew about us having problems, so you decided to give him what I wouldn’t. You’re nothing but trash.”

Anne felt hot tears roll down her face, too dumbstruck to argue back. Billy was telling people that she slept with him; that something _consensual_ had happened. She looked around the sea of faces surrounding them, spotting Jane, Tillie and Ruby among them, faces furrowed with worry.

“You know what I don’t understand,” Josie continued, voice dropping into an icy whisper as her eyes looked Anne up and down disdainfully. “What he ever saw in you.”

Anne fell against her locker when she left, her face streaked with tears, hot and angry. _How dare he? How dare he?!?_ She clenched her fists, and then in a fit of temper, whacked one against her locker, the sound of flesh on metal ricocheting around the lofty corridor. She looked around the people who circled her still, curious and judgemental eyes boring into her, but she searched for a face, friendly and open, who still hadn’t texted her back. He wasn’t there. She was alone, sailing through an Atlantic storm in a rowboat, her oar already lost to the sea.

**********

Anne had tried to keep a low profile all day, skulking around the school with her head lowered, stealing into shadows when she could. She couldn’t stand the whispering, the sneering, the lies. Jane, Tillie and Ruby had told her they were sorry, but what she did was unacceptable, especially after what had happened to Josie at the party. Anne was confused.

“What happened?” she asked desperately.

“Billy groped her,” Tillie whispered. “And then you _slept_ with him, Anne. She’s devastated. She thought you were friends.”  
“I didn’t sleep with him,” Anne argued. “He cornered me, he pushed me against a wall. I – I couldn’t escape.”  
The girls all shared a worried look, eyes wide as their minds created a timeline of the events of Saturday night, before Ruby said, “We believe you, Anne. But we have to support Josie. She needs her friends around her.”

 _What about me?_ Anne wondered, although she understood. Josie was grappling with the shame and embarrassment Anne felt, alongside a broken heart. Anne’s own heart ached for her.

Cole and Diana had spent all day cooing soothing words to her and fiercely defending her to anyone they overheard spread rumours, and with how quickly gossip travelled in Avonlea High, that was almost everyone they met. Roy had hugged her tight and told her that it would all blow over. Not to worry. She would be last week’s news by Friday. Anne smiled weakly at him, but she didn’t draw any comfort from his words. She didn’t want to be the subject of gossip when it wasn’t true.

“Look, when I see this guy, I’ll talk some sense into him,” he reassured her. “I think he might be afraid of me.”

Anne laughed wetly at that. “Yeah, I wonder why?” Roy had a reputation as a bit of a bad boy; as bright as they make them, but he never applied himself, especially if you listened to the whispers that spread about the hijinks he would have gotten up to in his old school back home.

“Rumours spread quickly here.” He patted her shoulder and winked before heading off to class.

Anne couldn’t face English just yet. Billy would be there, and she couldn’t see him today. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She knew her friends were supportive, even if from a distance until Josie cooled and the truth could come out, but she hated how everyone’s opinion of her changed. How she wasn’t allowed a say in the what people thought of her. Billy was the golden boy of Avonlea high; his word was worshipped as reverently as the gospel.

The sound of a door slamming broke her out of her reverie just in time for her to see the Gilbert Blythe striding up the hall towards her, his strong arms reaching out to draw her into a warm, comforting embrace, smoothing her hair back from her temple and cradling her head in his hands.

His arms felt like home; his woody, citrus scent like a warm blanket wrapped around her. She choked out loud, angry sobs and, suddenly weakened, she sunk to her knees. He moved with her, still holding her tight as she clung to him, wet tears soaking a dark patch on his sweatshirt.

“I’m sorry, Anne. I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered to her, his lips brushing lightly against her temple. He pressed a light kiss to her forehead, and she drew back from him, shocked at the contact and how her skin tingled where his lips impressed.

“Where were you?” she asked him, her voice coming out more severely than she intended.

“Anne.” He shook his head, his eyes searching hers. “I’m sorry, I got your messages. I was just…”

“What? What were you?” Her voice was sharp, her hurt and anger at the day’s events being hurled at him. She didn’t know why. Maybe because he wasn’t with her when it all started this morning. Maybe because she was embarrassed that he knew. He wrapped her into his arms again and she fell against him.

“Busy,” he said, knowing that was a lie. He was avoiding her. Distance, as Bash said. He picked the wrong day to do it. He felt so foolish, storming into school today 20 minutes early so he could have passed Green Gables before Anne was at the gate, ignoring Roy when he said hello as they met each other in the corridor. But he started hearing whispers. It was nothing at first, just tales of Billy and some unidentified girl at Josie’s party on Saturday. The guy was scum, so the fact that he was spewing stories didn’t surprise Gilbert. A gentleman never told but Billy Andrews was no gentleman.

And then he heard Josie murmur in English. How Anne had been with Billy and how insensitive it was. Billy had _hurt_ her, and Anne was meant to be her friend. Gilbert furrowed his brow. That wasn’t right, Anne wasn’t like that. And he had seen her with Roy.

Suddenly, everything clicked; the story of Saturday night played out like a movie reel in his head. Anne at the party, the ashamed look on her face. Her clothes tugged at. Her makeup smeared. Roy hadn’t been _with_ her. He had stopped it. He was in the right place at the right time. And where had Gilbert been? Cowering in a hallway, his heart breaking, unjustly jumping to conclusions. It was at that moment he knew he needed to see her. Forget distance and put their friendship above his feelings. He tore from his seat, and found her in the hall, where they still were now, clinging to each other as her tears fell, blistering and wet.

“Anne, the guy is a creep. He hurt Josie, too. This - these stories, this is his wounded pride talking. You’re so strong, Anne. You can get through this. Billy Andrews can't beat you.”

“Gil, he pressed me to the wall. I kicked him, but…” she choked out the next words. “If Roy hadn’t have come, Gil, I couldn’t have fought him off. I know I couldn’t have…I was so scared.”

He shushed her softly, whispering into her hair.

“You’re so strong, Anne. This won’t break you. You’ll break this, I know you will.”

And on the floor was where they stayed for the duration of their English lesson, Anne curled to his chest, his hands running gently through her hair, until her sobs subsided, and they were quiet; inhaling and exhaling the stuffy air of the corridor in unison.

Just before the bell rang to signal change of class, Anne wiped her eyes, gave Gilbert a watery smile and whispered, “Thank you. You’re the best.” She took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “I appreciate you so much.”

He looked at their hands, how he still reached out for her even after she let go; rising to her feet, collecting her satchel and making her way to her next class, shoulders set squarely, an illusion of bravery she didn’t feel. He flexed his tingling fingers as he watched her retreating back.

“You’ll not get too far with that one, bud,” a voice sneered behind him. Gilbert turned to see Billy Andrews watch him from a few feet behind. He got to his feet.

“Rumour has it, she’s into bigger guys. Sporty types. A pity you’ll miss out though,” Billy taunted, sauntering closer, pushing his hands into his pockets. “She’s really dirty.”

Gilbert felt his teeth set, his jaw clench, and as if the spasm at his jaw triggered an involuntary reflex, his hand curled into a fist and met the side of Billy’s face with a ferocious whack. Billy stumbled backwards, his hand at his cheek.

“What the fuck, Blythe?” he spat.

“Don’t you ever talk about Anne like that,” Gilbert shot at him, his voice dripping with a controlled fury.

“Why? Do you _want_ her? Don’t make an idiot of yourself over that little slut, she’s not worth it.”

Gilbert pushed Billy into the lockers, an upper cut catching him in the stomach in a blow. Billy swung back in retaliation, his fist connecting with the socket of Gilbert’s eye; his skin splitting, a searing pain. He threw Gilbert backwards, and he stumbled, before charging at Billy again, winding him with a blow to the chest that caused him to hurtle to the floor with a roar.

Gilbert heard a classroom door open, but he didn’t turn to see who it was. Instead, he straightened over the cowering figure on the floor.

“Not so cocky now, eh, Andrews? Not when it’s someone who can fight you off.”

Billy rubbed at his face as the footsteps that were making their way towards them stopped, Ms Stacy falling to her knees to help Billy to his feet.

“What is the meaning of this?” she shouted sharply, over the ringing of the bell. “Mr Andrews, go to the nurse immediately. Mr Blythe, come with me.”

And as students poured out of classrooms, the rumour mill started again.

“Billy Andrews has just been beaten up,” they whispered.

“Who by?” they answered.

“Nobody knows. Ms Stacy marched him off before anyone could get a good look. All we seen is that he has dark hair.”

**********

“Sit down, Gilbert,” Ms Stacy ordered. She had marched him to her classroom, shaking her head the whole time, reproaching him on how she expected better of him. He didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place to tell her what happened to Anne. It was outside of school grounds and he knew Anne wouldn’t want Miss Stacy to know. Instead he mumbled “He said something that offended me.”

“You should learn to control your temper, Mr Blythe, instead of throwing punches at every person that offends you.”

She spoke sharply, but she was fond of Gilbert; he was a good boy and bright. This was unlike him, not his normal behaviour at all.

“I’m allowing you to catch your breath,” she explained. “But we will need to call your guardian in for a meeting. This behaviour, injuring another student, is not acceptable, Gilbert. Not even as a first offender.”

He nodded, “I understand.”

“Let me get you a cold cloth for that eye, to make sure it doesn’t swell. But we will need to see Mr Phillips straight after.”

**********

“Did you hear about Billy Andrews?” Cole sing-songed as he met Anne and Diana at the end of the school day.

“What about him?” Anne asked dully. She was sick of Billy Andrews, sick of this day. Bored with the looks and the gossip. Upset that the girls had distanced themselves to support Josie, even though she understood why. She wished Josie would let her in. They were survivors of the same thing; unwanted hands roaming over unwilling bodies.

“Someone decked him one,” Cole squealed excitedly, shooting looks over his shoulders as if Billy had spies hidden around them ready to pounce on any unsuspecting high schooler who uttered a bad word about their valiant leader. “The side of his face is completely swollen, and he’s been wandering around moaning like a baby since it but won’t say who it was.”

“Wouldn’t want to wound his pride,” Diana offered, rolling her eyes. “It probably was someone he wouldn’t have considered much competition.”

“It was Roy,” Anne whispered. Her mind travelled back to what he had said earlier, how he would ‘talk some sense into him’. How Billy was afraid of Roy. That’s why he wouldn’t tell anyone who it was. “It _has_ to be Roy. He told me he would talk to him.”

“Sounds like he did a bit more than talk,” Cole laughed. “Look at you, a big strong man defending your honour.”

Anne smiled weakly as she remembered Gilbert’s words. “ _I_ am strong,” she said. “I don’t need a man to defend my honour. But a man putting Billy Andrews into his place, I can accept that.”

She hugged her two friends close to her. “You’re amazing, Anne,” Diana praised. “So brave.”

Anne drew back, and cupped Diana’s face with her hands. “I’m only brave because I have such wonderful support from you, dearest Diana.”

“And you,” she giggled, taking Cole’s hand. And with their arms wrapped around each other’s waists, the three friends paraded back to Green Gables to have ice cream and chocolate and dance the stresses of the day away to Dolly Parton, or Taylor Swift, or another wonderful female who had ever fought back after being belittled by a man.

**********

Gilbert fretted around the kitchen; knocking over pots, fumbling through the pages of a cookbook Anne had compiled for him, almost taking a finger off with a knife. He had come straight home after school. Mr Phillips was, understandably, very angry and Bash had been called, with an order to be at school at 3.45 sharp for a meeting about a fit punishment. Gilbert seethed. There was no reason for him to be the only one who was punished. Billy was the one who provoked it _and_ he deserved it. Gilbert hated the thought of Bash sitting in front of Mr Phillips, Gilbert’s behaviour being diluted down to an unfit upbringing, most likely. Everyone knew Mr Phillips was a horrible racist. And misogynist. _And an idiot,_ Gilbert thought blackly.

He finished slicing vegetables for stew, following Anne’s carefully penned instructions as best he could, before simmering them over a steady heat.

“Right, Dellie,” he chirped to his niece, who was dancing around his feet to a _Hairspray_ song she had listened to with Anne three weeks ago that their Amazon Echo played continuously on repeat since. “Will we read a story?”

Delphine nodded eagerly, and Gilbert took her hand and led her through to the sitting room, heaving her onto his knee as they settled into _The Day the Crayons Quit._

It was 7.30 in the evening when Bash had swung open the back door and entered the kitchen. Gilbert and Dellie had finished dinner and he had given Delphine a bath and was grappling her into her pyjamas. He looked up at Bash, exasperated with the fight from Dellie, and sighed.

“Boy, am I glad to see you. This is like wrestling with an octopus.”

Bash laughed. “Come here to Daddy, pretty girl,” he cooed and Dellie ran to her daddy, sitting patiently on his knee as he pulled her pink, duck printed pyjamas on. “Right, my love, we’ll get you to bed. And, then Blythe, we’ll have a talk.”

Gilbert nodded, and watched Bash leave with Delphine. He finished washing the dishes and heated a bowl of stew up for Bash when he entered the kitchen again.

“Thanks,” Bash smiled, taking the bowl from Gilbert, and settling at the kitchen table.

“Want anything else? Some water? A coffee? A shovel to bury me with?”

“Calm down, Blythe,” Bash reassured. “I’m not mad. I’m curious. How did a skinny fella’ like you ever get the better of a lump like him?”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Momentum,” he answered. “And the element of surprise.”

“Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

“No.”

“Well, I want to know if the punishment fit the crime,” Bash answered, raising his eyebrows quizzically. Gilbert shook his head, shot a look to the ceiling and prayed Anne would forgive him for sharing the day’s events with someone else.

“I went to school today, and there were some stories going around - about Anne.”

“I should have known she would have been wrapped into this. You are a moke, Blythe. Just tell the girl how you feel and then let the chips fall where they land. You can’t let yourself get into trouble, ruin your chances of university, over a boy that she’s dating.”

“She’s not dating Billy Andrews. He lied, made it all up! Bash, you should have heard what he was saying about her!” Gilbert explained, heatedly. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

“What about distance?”

“She’s my best friend!”

“Well, how about this? Blythe, they almost suspended you. You’re the orphan kid raised by an unrelated black guy. That kid you beat on; his dad is on the Board of Trustees. Mr Phillips is playing into his pocket; _you_ almost lost out, kid. That’s a black mark on a medical school application. That’s a blight on any reference that’s asked for. Think with your head, Blythe!”

Gilbert drew back at Bash’s harsh talking to. He knew he deserved it, he could picture Mr Phillips sitting behind his polished, mahogany desk, speaking down to Bash. He could understand why he was angry. Even more so, he knew if Anne heard she would be mad. She isn’t a princess in a tower, waiting for a prince. She didn’t need the white knight to save her. He messed up for the both of them.

“Why didn’t they?” he asked, quietly now, shame colouring his cheeks. “Suspend me?”

“Muriel talked them out of it,” Bash explained, leaning back in his seat, and running his hand distractedly over his face and over his tightly curled hair.

“Who’s Muriel?”

“Ms Stacy. She defended you to the end; you have a lot to thank her for,” Bash leaned forward in his seat. “She’s worried about you. You’re a model student, she said. I always knew you were a teacher’s pet.” He laughed now, deep, hearty chuckles.

“She said all of this in front of Phillips?” Gilbert inquired; his brow furrowed.

“Afterwards. We went for a walk, just me and her.”

Gilbert’s eyebrows shot up. “You went for a _walk_ with her. Like a date?”

“Not like a _date,_ ” Bash laughed. “That’s next week.”

“Bash!” Gilbert hollered, his face reddening in mortification. “You can’t date her.”

“Why not, Blythe? It’s been 2 years since my lovely Mary passed and I don’t ever want to replace her. But as much as I love you, kid, sometimes I need a bit of adult company.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened and he felt himself turn beetroot red, his cheeks hot with humiliation. “I’m eighteen! I’m an adult. Talk to me.”

“ _Female company,_ Blythe,” Bash chuckled. “The same type of company you were thinking off when you sucker punched that Andrews kid.”

*********

Gilbert slammed his bedroom door, cheeks still coloured scarlet after Bash’s revelation. He threw himself onto his bed, curling under his duvet. Anne’s copy of _Captain Corelli’s Mandolin_ caught his eye, sitting on his bedside table. He reached to pick it up, to continue reading from where he had bookmarked, when he thought better of it. He should ring her and check in.

She picked up after the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” His voice was low and raspy. He didn’t want Bash to overhear his phone call. “How are you doing?”

“Better,” she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Cole left an hour ago, but Diana stayed here a bit longer. She’s left about five minutes now. I’m so lucky to have her.”

“Yeah, but she’s lucky to have you too.” He smiled, glad that she was happy and supported, even when he couldn’t be with her. “Today has been rough, huh?” he sighed, the image of her face when she fell to the floor in the corridor, crumbling into him like a broken china doll, replaying in his mind.

“You can say that again,” she laughed softly, but he could hear a trace of sadness still in her voice. “But tomorrow will be better. I have a feeling Billy Andrews won’t mess with me again.”

“Why?” Gilbert could feel his heart beat wildly in his chest. _She’s heard about the fight._

“Roy beat him to a pulp, apparently,” she explained, her voice sounding distant. Gilbert felt his heart stop, stutter; his blood run cold. She thought Roy had hit him, had defended her. He thought she would have been angry when she heard and she still might have been if she knew the truth. She liked Roy and probably felt it was a romantic gesture coming from him, especially when he had been there to stop it. He knew he couldn’t burst her bubble, as much as he wanted to. He would need a good excuse for the purple bruising that was beginning to bloom around his eye.

“How did you hear it was Roy?”

“He told me he would talk to him, and he’s protective, you know? I don’t know why he did it…I can’t get my head around someone actually liking me enough to…”

“To what?” Gilbert’s voice was a breathy whisper into the phone, lost in his feelings for her and the searing pain of knowing her feelings for someone else.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her own voice dropping enough that it was just above a whisper. “Stand up for me I guess.”

He thought of how he felt before it happened. How he felt just before his fist met Billy’s face. The fury at the pain and humiliation Billy had inflicted on her.

“’Love is a temporary madness’,” he quoted, turning onto his side and staring out the window at the moon.

“ _Captain Corelli’s Mandolin.”_

 _“_ Yes. Likely you’ll recall it was my reading assignment for this week.”

“I remember. Are you enjoying it?”

“I am. I think it might be my favourite yet.” He smiled, meditating on the story that was unfurling from the pages of the pale blue hardback. “The juxtaposition of love as new and intense or slow and building is perfect. It makes you question what real love is.”

“Listen to you, using your literary terms. Has the doctor been paying attention in English class?” He laughed softly, grinning stupidly at the teasing tone in her voice.

“I have a good teacher,” he justified.

“Well, I think love can be both.” Her voice was sleepy now, a slight dreaminess to it. “Love doesn’t look the same to everyone.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He swallowed back, fighting off images conjured by his traitorous mind of Roy and Anne deeply in love; him sweeping her into his arms, a lingering kiss on her lips. He felt his heart grow heavy, wearied by a dull ache.

“What do you suppose it feels like? Being in love?” Her voice was dreamy now. It sounded heavy with tiredness, her breaths deep and slow.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. He thought about how he felt about her. How it felt perfect yet excruciating; happiness mingled with despair. “I think it probably feels like a fire. It can be gentle and warm and comforting, or it can be searing and a little painful. But you wouldn’t want it extinguished for the world.”

“Who hurt you, Blythe?” she laughed softly into the phone, her speed of speech slowing as heavy breaths punctuated each word she whispered. “I think - it must feel like flying. Like your head is in the clouds - but your feet are still rooted to the ground. Magical but tangible all at the same time.”

“That’s really beautiful, Anne.” He went quiet, his mind swirling with images of her dancing at the bonfire, the firelight dappling off her beautiful hair, igniting it into a burst of flames. How her ivory skin, dusted with perfect freckles, glowed. Her beautiful blue eyes sparkling. She was effervescent, ethereal. She was a woodland fairy; magic flowing through her veins. Everything was better through her eyes, from her lips.

“Anne?” he whispered, aware that her breathing was becoming deeper and that she hadn’t answered him. She must have been asleep. He smiled, listening to her softly inhale and exhale. “Goodnight, Anne. Sweet dreams.”

After hanging up, he checked the time on his phone, rolling onto his side. 10.15; late but not late enough for him to feel weary with sleep. He picked up his book, opened to the page he had marked and then sat it back down.

 _Anne thought Roy loved her. She thought Roy had fought for her._ He touched the bruise at his eye, sighing. He couldn’t let Anne know it was him. He would have to play along with her image of Roy standing up for her, perfectly protective and chivalrous. Roy was, after all, the book boyfriend incarnated, right?

Gilbert ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. He knew his love for her had been instantaneous; it ignited spontaneously the second her book connected with his head and, as time passed, the bright blaze had simmered into golden embers that would warm him forever. He felt nauseous at the thought of Anne and Roy having that instant burst of love also. He wished her happiness, but selfishly, he wanted her happiness to lie with him. His love to be what warmed her and made her feel safe. He shook his head and turned his attention back to his book, where true love always prevailed. Where those who loved were loved as deeply in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all you persistent and dedicated readers who make it as far as to read the notes, thank you!  
> If you have enjoyed this, please leave kudos or a little comment. I love reading them, they never fail to make me smile. It's amazing what kind words from a stranger can do for your self esteem!
> 
> I also got myself a brand new tumblr account and, despite not having a ruddy clue how to work it, please come by and say hello if you feel inclined to do so.
> 
> @beckybubbles


	5. 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same' Wuthering Heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne has an unexpected fantasy and forces her friends to consider 'what is fair?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this is not my strongest chapter. I just couldn't get it exactly how I wanted it.  
> But I tried and that's the main thing, right?
> 
> So, onto the next part...

_Early November was dull; the sky slate grey, heavy rain thundering down constantly, dashing off pavements and wetting Anne’s clothes through. The wind was icy and biting and Anne’s fingers were frozen, the tip of her nose blotched bright red._

_She was walking home from school, battling against the blustering wind as best she could, her umbrella having been upended two streets back. But Anne didn’t mind. She loved the rain; how it numbed her skin and dampened her hair, the heady smell of it clinging to her clothes. It made her feel alive._

_“Anne!”_

_The voice from behind had stilled her and she spun to see who was approaching, squinting to determine whose frame is was that was emerging from the sheets of rain._

_“Roy?” she asked and to her ears she heard a hint of disappointment in her voice. Well, who was she expecting it to be? He caught up with her, strides quick in the semblance of a jog, grasping her arm and pulling her along with him._

_“With everything else you have going on, it would be a really inconvenient time to catch pneumonia too!” he called to her, and he dragged her through a gate that led to Avonlea park. “It’s too long to Green Gables. We should find shelter until the rain blows over.”_

_“Roy, it’s alright. A little rain has never hurt me before.” But he persisted, her hand in his, pulling her through the park and only stopping when they found shelter under the canopy of a great oak tree that stood proud in the centre of the well-maintained grounds._

_He turned to her, his mouth quirked into a gentle smile, but his eyes were dark; hungry. Anne couldn’t pull her gaze from him, try as she might. It stayed locked on his; dark pools that swirled with hidden depths. Depths that she suddenly wanted to dive into and discover._

_“I wouldn’t want anything to hurt you, Anne,” he murmured to her, stepping closer and letting his fingers trail down the ends of braids, and with a sudden flick of his wrist, the hair was pulled loose, beginning to unravel at the ends. He slowly raked his fingers through it, tugging lightly at the flame red strands and pushing his hand deeper into her hair, his fingers stroking her scalp. She felt her breath catch in her throat at his touch._

_“You are so beautiful, Anne.” His voice was a whisper now, the deep, melodic lilt to it drawing her in. She hung on every word he said. He stepped closer, drawing her close to him. “So very, very beautiful.”_

_She watched his dark eyes fall to her lips, pink and patient, ready for him to claim them. He tilted her chin upwards and inching slowly, slowly (so slowly that Anne felt she would explode with the anticipation) his lips met hers for the very first time._

_Anne’s eyes fluttered closed as their mouths melted together, his kiss sweet and soft, lips slanting against hers as his hand cupped her cheek._

_“Anne…” he murmured against her mouth, his voice low, velvety and honeyed, the distinct Britishness of it dissolving in the kiss._

_And then, as if the whispering of her name ignited an inferno in him, he pulled her closer still, his arm snaking around her waist and holding her flush to his body, so close she could feel the hammer of his heartbeat under his clothes. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he kissed her deeply, her hands teasing at his hair; softer and curlier to her touch than she expected it to be._

_He turned them together, their bodies moving as one, pressing her back against the tree behind her, his weight leaning on her now, a pressure that filled her with need. He tilted her head back, his tongue expertly parting her lips and dipping inside her mouth playfully, exploring the unknown territory hidden there. She whimpered against his mouth, feeling a heat bubble in her tummy that she hadn’t experienced before; new and intense and exciting._

_When she felt herself gasp for a breath their kiss slowed, simmering into sweet, soft kisses that trailed from her lips and along her cheek before they eventually broke apart, his forehead resting against hers; her eyes still closed , hand against his chest where she could feel his breaths coming fast and ragged._

_“You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that for,” he laughed softly, and she was warmed by the tender familiarity of his voice._

_“Me too,” she murmured back, and her eyes fluttered open dreamily. Her sparkling blue orbs met his again; warm and soft, moss green and amber flecked with gold and outlined in a sweep of heavy, dark lashes. They were eyes that she knew and loved so well. His hand slipped from her back, fingertips tracing her cheek and twisting into the strands of her flame-red hair._

_“I love you, Anne,” he whispered, a rasp to his voice that made the warmth in her tummy explode like a volcanic eruption. She needed him again, needed to feel his lips on hers and as she stood on tiptoe drawing him close to her once more, the true reality of who she was about to kiss struck her. The warm hazel eyes, the shock of chocolate curls, the broad shoulders and lithe frame. This wasn’t Roy, this was…_

“Gilbert?!”

Anne shot upright in her bed, her heart racing, a troubling heat fizzing and popping in her belly and lower into the very centre of her being. She felt nauseous and exhilarated; dreadful yet thrilled. Her hands worried at her heart, pressing over the pale, freckled skin to tame the manic beating and the feeling that it was about to burst if it raced any faster.

 _It was only a dream, Anne,_ she reassured herself. _It doesn’t mean anything. It was only a dream._

A creak from the hall and a soft rap at the door drew her eyes from the dark gloom of her room and to the entrance, where the door squeaked open slowly and a ghostlike face peered around it, illuminated from behind by the lamp in the hall that Marilla insisted on leaving lit each night.

“Anne? Are you alright?” Matthew’s voice was soft and gentle and he took a tentative step into her room. “I thought I heard you call out is all.”

Anne’s face bloomed bright red and she was thankful for the darkness that she was hidden in that he couldn’t see it. He had heard her call out. Had he heard her shriek Gilbert’s name into the stillness and quiet of the house? She internally cursed the old house; sound travelled easily through the wooden frame and panelled walls.

“I’m fine, Matthew,” she reassured him.

“Well now, if you’re sure. You look like you’ve had a fright.”

She sighed heavily. She _had_ had a fright indeed. Her lips claimed by her best friend, her body engulfed in the heat he sparked in her. It was so sudden, so unexpected….

“It was nothing.” She smiled brightly, but her face felt forced and unnatural. Matthew’s cool, blue eyes squinted with worry. She must have looked quite mad, she realised. “Just a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. Maturation is _exhausting.”_

Matthew nodded, taking in what she had said and pondering on the name he had just heard her call out, that had ripped through the solemn silence of the night. He smiled softly. Matthew wasn’t a man of many words but his years of staying in the background and listening rather than talking allowed him to hone his skills of reading people; taking more from their actions than their words. And he could read Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and young Gilbert Blythe like an open book.

Anne had come to them late in life. At eleven years old her formative years were already over and they were faced with a plucky and impulsive child, filled with wonder and whimsy, on the cusp of adolescence; drowning in her imaginings to forget her realities. He remembered the phone call they received from Mr Phillips on her very first day of school.

“This behaviour is completely unacceptable,” he had raged, after disclosing how Anne had ‘violently assaulted’ another child. Her weapon of choice; a hardback copy of _The Railway Children_ , one of the only possessions she had arrived with. A story of struggle and hope; children who waited for their father to come home.

“Well now, I’m sure she didn’t do it without some provoking,” he had maintained to Marilla as she sat at the kitchen table afterwards, hands fretting with worry at what sort of child they were dealing with.

“She whacked the poor boy, Matthew. The child could have gotten a concussion,” she replied heatedly. “What will they think of her? Can you imagine what the talk will be at the dinner tables tonight? At the Andrews or the Barrys? Oh, I dread to think of it.”

And so, when Anne arrived home, skipping through the doors, Marilla and Matthew sat her down and Marilla outlined just _what_ sort of behaviour she expected from a good little girl. Anne huffed, arguing hotly that he deserved it for being so wicked, her ruddy little cheeks flaming bright red.

And not an hour later, a sharp rap came to the door. Marilla peeked through the window before answering it, hands fluttering nervously on her stomach and a flush to her skin. She was anxious that she would find Rachel Lynde there, delivering some gossip about what had happened at school and how impious the neighbours thought Anne. She was mistaken.

“It’s John Blythe.”

John Blythe trailing with him a wriggling twelve-year-old; the boy tall and awkward, a guilty flush to his open face.

“I’m sorry, Anne, for calling you names,” he stuttered, glancing wide eyed at his father for encouragement that he had said the right thing. The adults watched on as Anne’s nose upturned haughtily, face twisted.

“Apology NOT accepted,” she cried and, as he stammered out a “w-what?”, she turned on her heel and ran; out through the kitchen door and around the side of the house, hopping across the brook that gurgled by the back of Green Gables.

The three adults watched Gilbert, Marilla bristling slightly, squirming with embarrassment in front of John. They observed his brief hesitation and a flash of something that looked like admiration cross his little face before he ran too, tracing her steps and calling her name. He had been running after her ever since.

But as Matthew watched her now, her hand to her heart and eyes wide with surprise, he wondered if she had just realised what he had years before; that it might be time to put an end to the chase.

“Rightly so,” Matthew agreed and he patted her shoulder lightly, a gesture of comfort that he hoped reminded her that although she was growing, she was still his little girl. Little Anne with the large, limpid eyes and the freckled face, and he loved her so very dearly. “But I’m sure it’s nothing a nice cup of tea can’t fix.”

Tea with Matthew was a quiet affair, as things with Matthew normally were. He had boiled the kettle and she got the cups, setting one at each of their places at the table; Matthew at the head, her to his right.

They nibbled at digestive biscuits, Anne dunking hers into her tea while absorbed soberly in her thoughts.

“Matthew, have you ever been in love?” she asked, breaking their comfortable silence. Matthew choked slightly on his biscuit, his eyes large and wild.

“Wouldn’t you rather talk to Marilla about that?”

“I want to talk to you.”

He nodded slowly and cleared his throat. “Well now, I can’t say I have…but I’ve known love in my own way.”

Anne smiled at him, her hand covering his and squeezing softly at the papery skin. He was so dear to her and she couldn’t picture anybody not loving him. She imagined Matthew, as young as her, with fuller cheeks and darker hair but still shy and silent. _Who would love him?_ she wondered. _Someone as kind and as generous of spirit perhaps?_

“Neither have I,” she admitted, sighing as though it was the most distressing thought she had ever had. “But I want to be.”

“And you will, Anne. In your own time and with the right person.”

“What if I have met the right person but it’s moving too slowly?” she mused aloud. Two months had passed since Roy had come to Avonlea and, although she considered him a friend, their relationship was edging towards something more than friendship at a snail’s pace. Anne was growing impatient. The gradual progression was letting other uncomfortable and unsolicited thoughts permeate her head.

“Then you wait.” He chuckled at her stricken expression. “Or you reconsider what the right person looks like for you.”

The image of Roy loomed in her mind; his dark moods and reserved nature a direct contradiction to her colourful chatter and bubbling passion but this is what always made the protagonists so perfect for each other in her novels; what one lacked the other provided. Two halves making one whole.

She recalled how he looked in her dream; straight dark hair rain slick and swept back from his handsome face, curling around his ears. She remembered the dark desire she had witnessed in his eyes and how her breath stuttered as he brought his lips closer to hers to claim her in a kiss before…. Ugh, Gilbert!

There he was again with his honey flecked eyes and teasing smile, his lips claiming hers in a kiss that sizzled with fervent passion. This needed to stop; it wasn’t right. He had a girlfriend, for crying out loud! Anne’s very best friend! And Anne had spent years imagining exactly what she wanted in her future partner; a melancholy man who would prowl around their large house in Spain or Italy, somewhere hot and cultured. Their love would be fiery and passionate; that’s what she wanted! And only someone like Roy could give her that; his dark, sad eyes and smoky scent was what she wanted to claim her senses. Not Gilbert Blythe. He was a hot summers day and her romantic ideal was snow in the winter. Her mind begged for frosty fights and long passionate evenings making up in front of the fire. But her heart…Well her faithless heart wished to bask in the warmth of the sun.

 _It was that stupid phone call from last night,_ she thought blackly. His voice rasping and low as he shared with her what he imagined love felt like; his description of engulfing flames. He told her he didn’t know what it was like to be in love, that he hadn’t felt it, but his voice betrayed him. He sounded like he was.

**********

Anne rose from her disturbed sleep the next morning, dressing in her cosiest and least conspicuous clothes; jeans and combat boots and a cable-knit jumper that she had claimed from Gilbert’s ‘to donate’ pile after he had shrunk it the first time he was left to use the washing machine unsupervised. She brushed and braided her hair, sighing as she stared at herself in the mirror in her bedroom. She knew the atmosphere at school would be tense and there would still be whispering and snickering about her. She had English today, so she would have to face Billy Andrews. _And_ she would have to see Gilbert. She had compartmentalised the dream to a part of her brain she rarely visited; the same place that stored their dance at Josie’s birthday, the soft timbre of his voice when he replied to her “as you wish” and the electricity that had jolted between them the time he gave her a thumb dictionary; his eyes dark and hooded as he shared a good natured joke that it would help her to beat him “fair and square”. And she wasn’t going to visit that part of her brain again, she determined. From now on, it was off limits.

After being interrogated by Marilla about why she looked so tired and enduring having her temperature taken because she just ‘did not look well rested at all’, Anne bounded to the door and down the path towards the gate, buttoning her coat. She ran through her to-do list for the day again:

  1. _Hold your head high. You did nothing wrong and Billy Andrews is the absolute detritus of humanity._
  2. _Talk to Josie and explain the situation as kindly and as well-reasoned as possible._
  3. _Speak to Roy and ask about another coffee date. Thank for sticking up for me._
  4. _DO NOT THINK ABOUT THE DREAM!_



And just as she reminded herself not to think about her dream, she did, at the exact moment her eyes landed on Gilbert Blythe, who was leaning against the gate. He had on the red, plaid coat she loved, his hair mussed and his arms folded. Her brow furrowed at a purple bruise that encircled his left eye. She froze to the spot, heat simmering within her and her temper flaring with frustration at her weak mind.

He stared at her; eyebrows furrowed in confusion at why she stilled in the pathway to glower at him. “Uhm, good morning.”

“What happened to you?” she snapped, pointing at the darkened skin tinged with yellow that curled around his brow bone and stretched below his eye. He flinched at her tone and his hand shot automatically to the back of his neck, a tic he had developed when he was nervous.

“Uh.” His eyes searched around but didn’t meet hers; his mouth opening and then closing again dumbly. “Dellie accidentally hit me when I was changing her last night,” he garbled and she rolled her eyes at how fidgety he was.

“Right,” she barked. “Well you look like a thug." She found herself irked by him today; her confusion and anger over the blush he brought to her cheeks making her tense and abrupt. She stormed through the gate, taking hasty steps as she marched ahead of him.

“Are you in a hurry this morning?” he asked, jovially, trying to ease the tension between them. He had no idea what he could have done to upset her but this was Anne and her moods were as unpredictable as the patterns in a kaleidoscope.

“No.”

“What’s the rush, then?”

“Don’t you have some other female you can annoy today, Blythe?” She stopped abruptly, rounding on him. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Anne, look I know today is going to be hard for you, but I’m here if you need…”

“I’m fine,” she hissed, tearing her arm away from the hand that was reaching towards her. “I can look after myself. I’ve dealt with bullies all alone before so I certainly don’t need you.”

“Yes,” he answered hotly, his hand falling to his side, fingers flexing. “I’ve taken notice of that.” A flash of guilt washed over Anne but before she could open her mouth to apologise he stalked past her, his shoulder colliding with hers; his head down and strides long with the purpose of getting as far from her as possible.

She watched him, jaw slack. Well, that wasn’t what she intended to do at _all_. Not alienate him all together. She just didn’t want to think about her stupid dream. Suddenly vexed by his annoyance at her, she marched on, using her rage to fuel her purposeful strides.

She reached Avonlea High just as Diana parked her pale blue vintage Beetle, sliding elegantly from the driver’s seat and slamming the door closed behind her, Roy emerging from the other side. They separated at the entrance, Roy greeting other boys from their class, Diana waiting for Anne to approach. Gilbert stopped briefly to say hello to Diana, his features tense but forced into a thin-lipped smile.

“Hello, Gil,” Diana chirped in reply, and her mouth puckered as she watched him stalk off as Anne approached.

“What’s gotten into him this morning?” Diana asked. “Don’t you usually come together?”

“He’s being ignorant,” Anne shot hotly, knowing he was still within earshot of her and her friend. “I don’t need to be _kept_. I’m completely capable of looking after myself.” She directed her words towards his back and heard him scoff and shake his head, although he never turned to her to argue further. He always took the higher road and it infuriated Anne when she wanted to rage at him.

“He’s an idiot,” Anne concluded, irritation simmering her insides and boiling her blood.

“What happened to his eye?” Diana asked earnestly. “It looks really painful.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, since you care so much?”

Diana’s face whipped back to Anne; her eyes rolling disbelievingly at how unreasonable she was being. Anne was a passionate individual with a red-headed temper and the smallest slight always created a momentous reaction in her. Diana admired Anne and loved her whole-heartedly, so she often agreed with her condemnations however, when it came to Gilbert Blythe, Anne’s anger was always uncalled-for. Everything he did was fuelled by his devotion to her and Diana couldn’t understand how Anne could be so blind to that.

“Anne, you may be in a bad mood but whatever happened isn’t my fault. Calm down – I’m not taking his side!” she defended hotly.

Anne took a deep, steadying breath, shrugging guiltily at Diana. She was being unfair to her. With all that was happening between her and Gilbert, of course Diana’s loyalties would be split. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just so sick of all of this drama. I hate feeling like I need to be wrapped up in cotton wool and fussed over.”

“He cares about you, Anne,” Diana soothed, just as Cole emerged from the crowd and ambled towards them. “And this will all blow over soon enough.”

“What happened Gilbert’s eye?” he asked them brightly.

“Ugh! Why does everyone care about his stupid eye. Dellie smacked him, if you really must know. And truth be told, she probably should have done it harder.”

Cole and Diana shared a knowing look. “Trouble in paradise?” Cole asked teasingly, Diana nodding eagerly in response.

“It _does_ seem a little coincidental that he should appear with a shiner like that the day after Billy Andrews gets beaten to a pulp though, doesn’t it?” he continued, laughing lightly at what he was suggesting but Diana’s hand shot out abruptly and gripped him, her eyes wide with shock.

“It does! Anne, could it have been Gilbert that fought with Billy yesterday?” she urged, excitement bubbling from her insides and shining out of her face like sunbeams.

Anne huffed out a laugh. “Please,” she began. “Don’t flatter him. Like Gilbert Blythe could take on Billy Andrews and live to tell the tale. He would squash him like a flea.”

“He’s a lot stronger than you give him credit for,” Diana scolded. “You still see him as some knock-kneed twelve-year-old with a crush.”

“I do not,” Anne exclaimed. “And he never had a crush on me!”

“He so did,” Cole teased. “He does still.”

“He does not!” Anne cried, flummoxed and frustrated. She shot a hasty look Diana’s way, worried that she would be hurt by what Cole was suggesting, but she must have taken the joke good-naturedly because her face still wore it’s pretty smile. “And anyway, I know for a fact it wasn’t him. I was speaking to him last night and he didn’t say anything to suggest it was. And he would have, right?” Cole and Diana’s teasing voices were silenced. They couldn’t argue with that logic.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to speak to Roy. You two are behaving like you’re absolutely crazy today.”

She skipped ahead, Diana and Cole’s laughter melting into the hubbub of the hallway as they trailed behind. Her eyes searched the sea of faces turned her way, hands cupping their mouths as they shared cruel gossip and hurtful japes, but she ignored them, pushing her way through bodies to meet the tall frame with jet-black hair.

“Hey, Roy,” she called out, spying him by his locker with Fred Wright.

He waved to her, smiling. “Hi, Anne. How are you keeping?”

“Great, thanks,” she replied brightly. She tugged awkwardly at her hair, nerves bubbling within her at how she was to approach her next subject. What if he rejected her with all these people around? She would never live it down. “I wanted to thank you, actually. For yesterday? You went absolutely above and beyond and I really appreciate it.”

“I didn’t do anything the others wouldn’t,” he replied, his brow furrowing as she spoke.

“Well, I’m grateful for it all the same. Maybe we could go for a coffee, my treat, as a thank you? But if you don’t, obviously it’s alright…”

“Sure,” he interrupted, laying his hand on her shoulder and quieting her rambling. “I’d like that.” He grinned at her; his face almost wolfish when he smiled. “But let it be my treat. You having to pay isn’t necessary. I only did what the others would have. We all care about you.”

She felt absolute elation when she went to homeroom. Even the horrible whispering couldn’t have deterred her from her sunny mood. That was, of course, until she sat at her desk behind Paul and Paul and heard them both muttering.

“I can’t believe someone put up a fight over _her_. She’s not even that good looking,” one chuckled to the other. She slammed her hand to her desk, causing them to jump in their seats.

“And neither of you are worth Tillie’s time or attention but you don’t hear me talking shit behind your back,” she snapped, the two boys looking at her wide-eyed and gormless.

“Wow,” she heard Cole breath from beside her. “She’s really scary when she’s angry.”

Diana nodded. “Like a terrier; really cute but would take your ankle off if provoked.”

**********

It was Friday, and Anne had still not spoken to Gilbert, her initial anger now diluted to embarrassment at how she behaved towards him. He had hardly put the dream into her head but she was too proud to be the first to apologise for expelling her frustration towards him. Cole and Diana had urged her too, Diana telling her that she had spoken to Gilbert and he was obviously confused at why they were fighting and missed her.

Anne snorted, “What does he need me for when he can speak to you.” Diana rolled her eyes and touched Anne’s arm lightly.

“You’re his best friend, Anne. As if a conversation with me would be the same.” Anne looked at Diana then, shocked that her and Gilbert didn’t speak about the same things Anne spoke to Gilbert about. What did that mean for their relationship? Was it maybe only physical? Anne had never asked Diana about her and Gilbert. Instead she pretended it wasn’t happening, feeling all too consumed by her own feelings on the Billy incident and the resulting fall out with her friends and everyone in school.

The only good thing that came off it was her coffee date with Roy. They met after school on Wednesday and went straight to Starbucks together, selecting the same seats they had sat in the first time they went there. He drank his coffee black, which she believed was _very_ Roy, and she had a salted caramel latte and a slice of carrot cake. When they spoke, it was jovial. He was always friendly and well-mannered, but when Anne tried to turn the conversation to them and their mutual interests, he normally spoke about the group as a whole; about Diana and her music and Cole and his art. Anne wondered if she should make her intentions clearer, that he may have been holding back until she gave him a sign that she wanted him too, but realised she would definitely need reinforcement in the art of flirting from Diana and Cole before she moved forward with Roy.

Now, Anne was entering English with Cole and Diana at her side. The room fell silent as she pushed through the door, all eyes on her. This was a common occurrence since news broke about Billy and Anne on Monday, and despite it happening in every classroom she entered this week, it still hurt her terribly, embarrassment heating her skin so she was flushed beetroot red. The girls smiled at her gently, Ruby rubbing circles on Josie’s back, but Josie’s eyes bore into her angrily. She still hadn’t forgiven Anne for what had reportedly happened with Billy and Anne argued blind it wasn’t true to no avail. Gilbert’s eyes were raised to her too but dropped back to his book when Anne’s met his, her chest twinging with a longing to hug him and tell him she was sorry. They were dancing around each other, trying their best to avoid the other like two strangers on a train sitting in opposite seats and trying desperately to not notice the other so as to not have to enter into small talk. She smarted at this, vexed again at her inability to swallow her pride and apologise. It was her fault after all. She dropped heavily into her chair, in her little desk by the window, Cole beside her.

“Good afternoon, everybody,” Ms Stacy chirped, entering the room. “Now as you know, we have finished our poetry unit, and on Tuesday I asked you to prepare a short speech on a topic that you feel strongly about that will begin our new unit on ‘Public Speaking’. I’m trusting that you have these all completed?”

She clapped her hands at the collective affirmative given by the class. “Perfect. We will be sharing your speeches with the class today. I will be pulling names at random to deliver your them.”

She went about the task of scribbling down student names and putting them into an empty sweet tub she kept from Christmas as the class fell into whispered chatter.

“What have you written yours on?” Cole enquired.

“Women’s role in society as told through literature. I focussed mainly on _Jane Eyre_ and _Pride and Prejudice_ and how women’s roles have progressed since then. It hasn’t been by much, though,” she joked bitterly. “What about you?”

“I wrote mine on the history of the modernist art movement. It’s more of a historical timeline than a persuasive piece.”

“It sounds riveting,” Anne smiled. Cole was so passionate about art and she knew that every bit of that passion would be poured into the delivery of his speech.

“Wonder what he wrote his on?” Cole asked, nodding briefly towards Billy. Billy wasn’t that clever, nor was he that interesting, so Anne was imagining a piece on touch football or his father’s business.

“The importance of jock-straps perhaps?” Cole continued.

Anne laughed heartily, tapping his arm playfully. Cole always made her feel better when she was in a bad mood. As they laughed, she noticed Roy watch them and she flushed at his attention. As her eyes darted down to her hands, they passed Gilbert’s face, also surveying her, his eyes soft but brow furrowed. She swallowed back the shame she felt.

“Right folks,” Ms Stacy called at the front of the room, gaining their attention. “We’re going to start with Moody Spurgeon.”

After a mumbled speech by Moody, the topic of which wasn’t clear to anyone, not even Moody himself, Tillie took the floor to discuss fast fashion as a contributor to climate change.

“And that is why we all need to make a more conscious effort to make do and mend and shop sustainably. Thank you,” she concluded to a polite round of applause from her classmates.

Miss Stacy reached back into the tub, drawing the next name. “Well done, Tillie. Next we have Billy Andrews.”

Billy stood up from his seat and swaggered to the front of the room to a chorus of cheers from his friends. Anne scowled.

“Alright. Settle down, settle down,” he laughed to the boys. “Today, I am going to be discussing why I feel it is important for schools to have an enforced dress-code.”

Anne quirked an eyebrow. This would be interesting. As he continued, however, she felt her blood boil and course around her body like hot magna ready to erupt at any moment. He argued that dress codes were equalisers and decreased tension between students due to their no-slogan policy, which Anne reluctantly agreed with. Then he suggested the way some students dressed, mainly females, was distracting and counter-productive to everyone’s education. How women should cover up for the sake of the male pupils. How freedom of expression shouldn’t matter in an educational building. She noted how some of the others nodded their agreement and she shook her head. ‘You’re basically begging for it,’ she heard him taunt. That was what he had said to her when he pinned her to the wall. She was begging for it because of how she was dressed. She scoffed when his speech drew to a close, the other pupils politely clapping as he sat down.

“A compelling argument, Mr Andrews,” Ms Stacy stated brusquely. Anne knew with the amount of feminist literature Ms Stacy recommended she probably disagreed with him, but even Anne couldn’t claim he didn’t speak well.

“Next we have - Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

Anne nodded, her nerves overtaking her, causing her to tremble. She stood and clutched the document in front of her, lovingly penned in her elegant script. But it seemed bland in comparison to what she really wanted to say now. Letting the paper fall back to her desk, she made a rash decision, striding to the front of the class.

“You have prepared a speech, Anne?” Ms Stacy questioned as Anne took her place with no notes in hand.

“I have, Ms Stacy, but with all due respect, I have decided I would like to put forward a counter argument to what Billy Andrews has suggested. You see, I feel that Mr Andrews argument is archaic and somewhat damaging to our modern society, and I feel that is what I would like to speak about today.” As she spoke, she turned to face Billy, countering his smug smile with a scowl, her eyes narrowed. Anne turned towards the class and began her impromptu speech, her voice strong and articulate.

“As I have just informed Ms Stacy, I will be countering Mr Andrews argument that Avonlea High should maintain enforced dress codes. I believe that these rules are damaging to some pupils and enforce a clear differentiation between the expectations of male and female students in our school.”

“I’m sure I do not have to make you aware that the school dress code is lengthy and detailed. It is a three-page long document, in which male students must only comply with four bullet points; do not wear t-shirts with slogans and graphics that are ‘inappropriate’. Do not have any bodily piercings. Do not wear sandals and all haircuts must be neat and of a respectable length. These four points take up less than a half of one page. That leaves 2 and a half pages dedicated to dictating how female students are allowed to present themselves. How we are allowed to express our personalities and interests. Do not wear skirts shorter than 2 inches below your fingertips. No shoulders can be on show. No piercings. No exposure of the stomach or back. Point after point after point on what we can and can’t choose to do to our own bodies.”

“Mr Andrews claims that without the dress code, he would be distracted and unable to concentrate in class. I feel that is an iniquitous statement to make, as surely Mr Andrews should have enough self-control to be able to maintain focus, and, might I remind you, Mr Andrews, that we do not dress for your pleasure, but for our own. Nor have we given you consent to ogle over us like a salivating dog.”

At this, a few of the class chortled and Anne squared her shoulders, confident now in what she was saying and the support she was gaining. Billy looked incredulous, his face pink and distorted with rage. Boldly, Anne persisted with her speech.

“When a girl is born, she is brought up being told she has opportunities, just as many possibilities as anyone else. But as we age, enter the school system and develop, we are told the opposite of that. ‘Don’t wear that, it’s not attractive,’ the media tells us. ‘Don’t wear this, it’s too suggestive for school,’ we are told by the Board of Trustees. But who dictates this? Why have females been reduced to nothing more than sex symbols or something for males to objectify and seek gratification from? I ask Mr Andrews, is the fault with the female student at all? Because to me, I feel that more blame lies with the male student who can’t control himself enough to concentrate in class. His failure is not the burden of the girl who wants to wear shorts because it’s hot. His failure is purely based on the fact that he can’t drag his eyes away from body parts that she did not give him permission to look at in the first place!”

Anne could feel her temper flare, so she sucked in a steadying breath, and took in the faces of the audience, all staring at her in wide-eyed shock.

“Last weekend..” she placed a hand on the side of Ms Stacy’s desk, grounding herself. She took a quick breath, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat. “Last weekend, at a party, something happened to me. I went to speak to a friend, but instead met a person who I do not, and will never, like or trust. This person pushed me into a wall. His hands touched body parts that I did not want him to touch.”

Anne felt her voice break, but steeling herself, she continued, “And this person told me that I was “begging for it” because of how I was dressed. I felt pretty that night. That doesn’t happen to me often, so it’s a nice feeling when it does. And instead of being allowed to feel pretty and have fun, I was made to feel vulnerable and unsafe. Yet when I came to school, I was told that there were rumours about me. The girl is always the ‘slut’, right? And the boy is hailed a hero. We always pass judgement on what she wore or how she acted or what she drank, but we never judge the person who _forced_ themselves on her.”

“This is something that we have seen throughout history. When we wore corsets and long petticoats, tunics to our ankles or dresses to our knee’s, women were still attacked. The fault does not lie with the clothes or with the woman. The _fault_ lies with those who do not have enough self-control or respect to restrain themselves. Men blaming women for their bodies response to female flesh is _degrading_ to women and it disempowers men.”

“As women, we deserve every right and opportunity that is offered to a man. We deserve to be treated with grace and dignity. We are not made whole by men, and their opinions of us. We are made whole the moment we enter the world. Therefore, I ask that we reject what Mr Andrews has proposed. We reject what society deems us to be; meek and willing and objectified. Instead, let’s embrace ourselves and exert our right to freedom of expression. Share our creativity and passions in ways that we wish to because it makes us feel good and beautiful, or whatever way we want to feel. Let us, each and every one, become responsible for our own actions, instead of placing blame on others. Let us reject the enforced dress codes and the casual sexism that is embedded in them. We are more powerful than that and we do not have to heed to the status quo. I propose that both genders are treated fairly with the same level of respect and autonomy. No one can touch us without our consent. No one can tell us how to live or dress. This is not a blanket condemnation of men, instead it’s a call to action. It’s a call for us _all_ to take ownership of our own bodies and to consider what is fair in the enforcement of dress codes in this school. Thank you.”

As Anne finished, her cheeks hot and raging passion still firing through her veins, the faces around her were white with shock. She looked at her classmates and, suddenly embarrassed, moved to sit down when Gilbert shot up out of his seat and began clapping loudly. She stared at him, as he beamed at her, glowing with pride and something else that Anne couldn’t identify but that poured from his eyes and soaked her through. Slowly, the rest of the class joined in, the applause growing louder, chairs scraping along the linoleum floor as they got to their feet. She laughed at the reaction, Jane cupping her hands around her mouth and whooping, Tillie whistling. Billy sat with his arms crossed over his chest, a look of distaste on his face, the vein at his forehead pulsing with rage. Anne took a small bow and moved to her desk. As she neared her it, Josie stepped in front of her, throwing her arms around Anne’s neck.

“I’m sorry, Anne,” she cried. “I should have known he made it up. I was angry and hurt and I didn’t mean to…”

“Josie, it’s alright. We’ve both come through the same thing,” Anne interrupted. “You are so brave and I’m so glad we can be friends again.”

The two girls hugged, breaking apart when Ms Stacy shouted over the din in the room.

“Alright everyone, settle down. I think that was enough excitement for one day, so we’ll end it there. Only prepared speeches next class please. Anne, a word before you go.”

Anne greyed. One victory followed be a fall. She packed her original speech away slowly, waiting for the classroom to empty. Cole squeezed her in a side-hug before he left.

“You’re amazing, Anne.”

She certainly didn’t feel it now, the exaltation at her victory feeling somewhat short lived.

As the door swung shut on the back of the last student to leave the classroom, Ms Stacy pulled out a seat at the front of the room, gesturing for Anne to sit. She moved behind her own desk and sat in the leather swivel chair there, fingers steepled at her chin.

“Anne, that was quite the passionate performance,” she began. “I feel you spoke well, if not heatedly, but the topic was maybe not wholly appropriate for class.”

“Ms Stacy, it was a counter-argument. I…”

Ms Stacy held her hand up to silence Anne. “Anne, I’m not saying it wasn’t necessary. I just felt that you were forced to share something traumatic that happened to you. I want you to know that if you ever need to speak to someone about this, an objective ear, I would be happy to or we can put provisions in place for you to talk to someone else confidentially. You were very brave today, Anne, and I would well imagine Mr Andrews will have the wind knocked out of his sails for a while.”

“Thank you, Ms Stacy. You have always been nothing but wonderfully kind to me.”

Ms Stacy smiled kindly, rising from her seat. “If you wish to talk at all, you know where I am. Now run along. I would dare say you are ready for the weekend and a bit of a break after that.”

Anne left the room, wishing Ms Stacy a lovely weekend as she did, and when she entered the hall, the door snapping shut behind her, she seen faces turn toward her again, the rumour mill never ceasing. But instead of disgust and taunts, the faces smiled and hands reached out to pat her back and voices congratulated her on standing up to Billy Andrews.

Anne felt like she was floating as she moved towards the door and out into the weak, winter sunlight. Her pain and hurt from the beginning of the week had transformed, the chrysalis bursting open and a beautiful butterfly breaking free. Joy and hope were all she felt. She looked around the people in the car park outside, meandering towards the gates. She was searching for Gilbert, ready to apologise, but when she spotted him, she felt her little bubble of joy burst. He was with Diana, laughing at something that was said, climbing into the passenger seat of her little blue car, Roy already in the back. Her apology died in her throat, and she felt something that ached deep in the cavity of her being, watching the little blue car containing her two best friends reverse out of the space and drive out of the gate, in the direction of Diana’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said at the start, not my best chapter.  
> I'm sorry if it came across as preaching. I just really wanted Billy to get a verbal bashing from Anne like we witnessed with the 'What is Fair?' article of 3x07. It's my favourite episode; it's so wonderfully powerful and I love feminist Anne.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and comments and thanks, as always, for reading x


	6. “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more” Emma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and Gilbert make up and Anne seeks some advice from Diana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I hope everybody is well. A bit of a late update but I think this will be a common occurrence from now on in. The real world has caught up with me unfortunately and my time is being split on other things.  
> Thanks for the comments and kudos on my previous chapters. I really appreciate them!  
> (I think I say that all the time but I do mean it, honest!)
> 
> On to chapter 6...

Anne sat at her desk, chewing the end of her ballpoint pen and staring at the scribbled black ink on the page in front of her. She had come home from school promptly, the exhilarating jubilation at getting her own back at Billy Andrews and rectifying any stories circulating about her quickly dying the second she seen Gilbert and Diana together in the little blue Beetle. She had _known_ , of course, that they were together. The fleeting glances from Diana and their suddenly having other things to do, such as internships and sisterly music lessons (aka meeting up in secret and hiding their relationship from their best friend) had been glaringly obvious to Anne, but there was something in seeing it so concrete, so absolutely evidential, that hurt her deep in her chest. Her heart, or her stomach, (it could have been her spleen for goodness sake!) just somewhere in the cavity of her being ached since she seen it. And she still couldn’t verbalise why, exactly.

She sighed deeply, returning her pen to the page in front. When she had come home, skulking upstairs and ignoring the quizzical looks from Matthew and Marilla, she hid herself away in her room. She wanted to be alone and organise her thoughts. After brooding sullenly on how her friends were moving onto another stage of their lives without her, she decided it would be best to comfort herself in the best way she knew how. She adored writing Princess Cordelia stories; she always had since she was little. But whereas, when eleven-year-old Anne had Princess Cordelia owning a lavish wardrobe and dazzling all around her with her beauty, charm and wit, 17-year-old Anne wished Princess Cordelia to have adventure; travelling to exotic ports of call, attending glamourous parties, and falling in love with the gorgeous Wisteria. She smiled. Ever since Roy came along, Wisteria was a lot easier to imagine. He was always tall and slim but toned. He always had elegant fingers that traced and touched in tantalising ways, high, sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw that Cordelia’s hands trailed along and dark, melancholy eyes. They would dance and have whispered conversations and laugh and compliment, but there was one thing they never did. She couldn’t imagine them kiss. Yes, they had kissed cheeks, but a proper, spine- tingling, toe curling kiss she could never convincingly write. Anne was still a little inexperienced in that area. Of course, she had been kissed, but it never meant anything. It was never from someone who loved her, or who she cared about. Just a drunken peck, or a silly kiss as a dare with a random boy from their class, but never anything meaningful. And it only really counted if both people wanted it to happen and had feelings for each other, Anne believed.

As she imagined how her beloved characters would share their first kiss, her hands drifted to her lips, her mind racing backwards to that terrible yet tantalising dream she had had at the beginning of the week, where Roy morphed into Gilbert and kissed her like she had never been kissed before. She flushed at the memory that she thought had been carefully stored away into the recesses of her mind and felt herself cringe at the thought of him, right now, kissing Diana the same way.

She only came back to herself when she heard her name being called from the bottom of the stairs, Marilla’s light tread ascending the staircase audible from inside Anne’s room.

The door creaked open and Marilla popped her head around the jamb. “Are you coming down for your dinner or will I keep it for you?”

Anne smiled. “Just keep it for me, I’m not much in the mood for eating.” She shrugged and tucked her legs up under herself in her desk chair. Marilla frowned, and came into the room, closing the door behind herself.

“Is everything alright? You have been a little off all week. Not at all like yourself.”

Anne shook her head and shrugged one shoulder defeatedly. “I’m fine, just a little worn out with school and things.” Marilla nodded and stood from where she perched herself at the edge of Anne’s bed, making her way back to the door.

“Would a little air make you feel better? I have an errand that needs doing but Rachel is coming around.”

Rachel Lynde was Marilla’s best friend, the two inseparable from childhood. She was a busybody with a condescending streak but Anne loved her like an aunt; her heart was in the right place even if her mouth sometimes said the wrong thing. Anne could relate to that.

She nodded, allowing her pen to drop onto her desk. “Air would be good.”

Marilla beamed. “Great, I have some balls of wool and a new cardigan pattern I promised to send around to Bash, but I’ve been run off my feet all day and never had a chance. Would you mind?”

Anne paled. Yes, in fact, she would mind. She really didn’t want to be reminded of Gilbert right now, not that she knew he wouldn’t be home. He would be at Orchard Slope, hands on Diana’s waist while hers where tangled in his hair. She flushed at the vivid image. It made her uncomfortable. She swallowed back, eyes travelling to Marilla where she was still at the door. Anne realised it had taken her a ridiculously long time to answer such a simple question and, feeling rather foolish, she shook her head. “I don’t mind at all,” she said, but her voice almost croaked out.

“Good,” Marilla trilled. “I’ll go and get them organised.”

When she left, Anne sighed heavily again, feeling a weight settle on her. She stood and pulled on her coat and wound her scarf around her neck, getting ready for the Canadian November that was raging in full force outside. She pulled her bag over her shoulder, lifting her notebook and pen and stowing them safely inside, in case inspiration struck her on the way. Before she left the room, she hesitated by her bookshelf. It had been a long time since she exchanged a book for Gilbert’s thoughts and obviously, his literary romantic hero education must have been serving him well. Diana must have been appreciating it. At that thought, a queer tug at her heart occurred, a strange pang that seemed to pull and pinch at her heart strings causing a tremor of pain. She fanned it way with a drum of her fingers over her chest and eyed her bookshelf. She could bring him another volume of something, surely. He probably didn’t exchange _Captain Corelli’s Mandolin_ for something new because of their fight. To make up for it, she would let him graduate to a more classic story. Cathy and Heathcliff roaming the moors would surely be enjoyable, she thought, and slipped her copy of _Wuthering Heights_ from the shelf, storing it alongside her notebook.

**********

With Marilla’s pack of wool tucked into her bag also she set off for the Blythe-Lacroix house. Gilbert lived on an orchard, his family being apple farmers for generations. She knew that he felt guilty for wanting to pursue medicine instead of farming, (“And there was Dad growing apple’s so doctors wouldn’t come near us. He was wrong on two counts,” he had joked darkly, a mirthless laugh bursting from his lungs, the day he told her about telling his father of his dreams, a few weeks before his father’s illness claimed his life), but when John Blythe had hired Bash to handle the financials and then his subsequent purchasing of half of the farm, Anne knew that the Blythe orchards would forever be in good hands. Dellie was a perfect mixture of fairy princess and formula one racer and Anne had no doubt that she would be a great business owner when she was older. She smiled at the image she conjured of little Dellie as a woman, making brave and bold decisions; equal parts beautiful and brilliant. Until then, of course, her farm was in safe hands with her father and, occasionally, her uncle. Bash was a wonderful juxtaposition of a man. He was an immigrant from Trinidad who had a loveless upbringing, causing him to flee and work any job he could. After seeing the world for a while, he found safe haven with the Blythes, John and Gilbert welcoming him like a new son and brother. He bought half of the farm when he could, his eye always trained on the future. Gilbert’s father had taken sick and he knew it would be a comfort to John, who knew he was dying and leaving behind his 14-year-old son. Gilbert would still have a home and a family with Bash. After John’s death, Bash made another bold decision, applying for legal custody of Gilbert so he would have familiarity and comfort in the form of his home and friends. The two were like brothers, Gilbert welcoming Mary into the family with open arms and all of them welcoming Dellie. When tragedy struck again and Mary became sick, Bash despaired so, but after her death he kept going, smile never faltering for the boy and girl left in his care. For someone with so much tragedy in their life, Anne imagined that it would have been justifiable for him to become hard and cold, but he was so strong and funny and soft, both of them scandalising over the latest episode of _Grey’s Anatomy_ or _New Girl_ while he knitted tiny yellow cardigans for Dellie. He had knit one for Anne once, in Robin’s Egg Blue, her favourite, and had Marilla embroider little daisies onto the placket. It was one of her favourite things to wear.

Anne approached the house, a homely stone building with a jolly red door and, excited at getting to see Bash and avoiding Gilbert, rapped her knuckles sharply against the glass panels. Still musing on the joyous man she was about to converse with, she startled when the door swung open to reveal Gilbert. Anne looked left and right of him, almost like Gilbert was a mirage that Bash’s figure would dissolve when it arrived.

Gilbert lifted his eyebrows questioningly, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Yes? Can I help you?” he asked, his voice laced with humour at her peculiar reaction to him. She looked back at him again, her eyes running from his messy hair, to his eyes, warm and kind, to his twisted mouth.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said plainly.

“At my own house?” He laughed, shaking his head gently. She smiled then too, laughing a breathy, gentle laugh at how ridiculous she must have sounded.

“I thought you were with Diana,” she shrugged. He nodded; his hands buried into his pockets.

“Oh, yeah. She left me round to Dr Wards office for my internship. I finished up at around half 5 and came home to watch Dellie. Do you want to come in?”

Anne’s eyes narrowed. He was good, she thought, an easy excuse always at hand. If she didn’t know better, she would have believed him. He stepped back and allowed her to pass, and she did, striding into the kitchen. “Where is Bash if you’re watching Dellie?” she asked, looking around to spot the head of dark curls and the joyous face of her sweet princess Dellie.

“Uhm,” Gilbert brushed his hand across his neck and went about straightening up the kitchen, lifting dishes to the sink, ordering papers strewn about the table. “He’s on a date. Dellie’s down for a nap.”

“Oh,” Anne stared at Gilbert, noticing how his eyes weren’t meeting hers; he was looking almost anywhere but at her. She observed how he seemed flushed, the tips of his ears going red. “Who is he on a date with?” she pressed, curious now by his reaction. Gilbert ran a finger around the neckline of his sweatshirt.

“Ms Stacy,” he almost whispered, his face burning hot now. Anne felt herself break into a grin and she began to laugh, peals of it ripping from her throat at his stricken expression and obvious discomfort. “Why are you laughing?” he hissed. “This is a nightmare.”

Anne wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, dashing away the tears that were forming. “A nightmare? Ms Stacy is wonderful but this is hilarious, Gil. How in God’s name did they meet?”

He rubbed his brow, sighing, and went about making tea, popping tea bags into the teapot and putting it onto the stove to brew. “At school.”

Anne jolted. What was Bash doing at school? Parents didn’t go to school unless you were in trouble and Gilbert Blythe was never in trouble. Unless…? She eyed his back, his strong shoulders and the muscles moving below them as he reached up to lift down two mugs. “What was he doing at school?” she queried, annoyed that again something happened in the life of Gilbert Blythe that he kept from her.

She watched his back straighten briefly, a look of concern cross his face as he hesitated before saying, “Oh nothing, he just wanted to talk to Ms Stacy about my medical school reference.”

Anne nodded slowly, sucking in her cheeks and pursing her lips. She looked at the pile of paper on the table, his laptop beside them, and seen the University of Toronto emblem in the top corner of the first page. He was working on applications now. She shouldn’t keep him. She stood from her chair, brushing down the front of her coat, and began rummaging in her bag.

“I should go,” she said, pulling out the now squashed bag of wool. “You’re busy. I just came to drop this around for Bash,” she gestured to the bag. “And this. A peace offering.”

She smiled as she pulled out _Wuthering Heights._ Her own notebook clattered to the ground. She bent to pick it up and when she stood she jolted with surprise. Gilbert Blythe was standing right in front of her, his scuffed red converse toe-to-toe with her combat boots. He stared at her intently, peering into her eyes with an intense expression, an expression Anne didn’t understand and wasn’t able to read, but it caused her to flush. It caused her stomach to flip-flop curiously and made the hairs on her skin stand to attention, as if reaching out to grasp at the heat she felt radiate off of him. Her eyes couldn’t be dragged from his; north and south poles locked together, unable to be pulled apart. Her foolish mind drifted back to the last time she had been so close to him, when they danced to Prince at Josie’s party and she felt her spine tingle where his hand had been, a phantom sensation on her skin.

“Don’t go yet,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelled like he hadn’t used it in an age. “Stay a little longer. Please? I missed you this week.”

Still unable to shift her gaze too far from him, she nodded. “Okay.”

He was the first to break the trance, drawing an uneven breath, his eyes moving to her hand and the books in it. He slipped them from her grasp, his skin brushing against hers and lingering, Anne thought, a pulse too long.

He smiled a soft gentle smile that quirked to the side, exposing the dimple that was hidden there. He moved back to the counter, lifting the mugs of tea and nodding towards the cupboard above him.

“There’s chocolate in there if you want to grab it.” Anne did and followed him to his room, her notebook and _Wuthering Heights_ both tucked under his arm, a mug in each hand.

He kicked the door to his room open gently, and Anne closed it behind them, conscious not to disturb Dellie in the room next door. Gilbert placed her mug onto his left bedside cabinet, on “her side” as he called it, and she threw herself onto the bed, peeling her coat off.

Gilbert’s room was very _Gilbert_. Dark blue walls and dark wooden furniture, all sturdy and functional and classic. The room wasn’t really decorated in any way. He had books scattered everywhere, some fictional, the majority medical or biological textbooks. He had a huge yellowed map of the world tacked above his bed, an old one with golden embossing and old Latin scribbled along the sides. He had pins stabbed into it marking the places he had been; Albany, Toronto, New York, Trinidad, London, Paris. The cover spread over the double bed was grey and plain, a colourful patchwork throw being the only item that added any brightness into the room.

“I have to apologise,” she said to his back, as he searched around his desk for something.

“No, you don’t,” he replied, turning to her with her book in his hand. “I should apologise. I was insensitive.”

“I was rude; you were only being kind.”

“Please can we not argue, for once?” he held his hand up to her, silencing the argument she was about to counter him with. “You went through a trauma, Anne. But I wasn’t insinuating you _needed_ me. I know you can look after yourself.”

“But I do _need_ you,” she urged, and then blushed at the look on his face; his eyes widening momentarily, face paling as his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. You’re my best friend, Gil. Of course, I need you.” Her voice came out breathy, almost a whisper, and she was mad at herself for it. It was as if his expression knocked the air from her lungs. He almost looked _hopeful_.

He ducked his head curtly, looking at the book in his hands before reaching it out to her. _Captain Corelli’s Mandolin._ She took it of him and stowed it into her bag. “Thanks,” she mumbled, bashful in front of him but unsure why.

“It was a lovely book but sad. It’s a pity that they missed a lifetime with each other based on a – a misunderstanding, I guess...”

She watched him as he spoke, the slump to his shoulders, the furrow to his brow, his eyes searching hers for something she wasn’t sure he would find there. Or worse, something he would.

“It’s a beautiful book,” she agreed. “Your next is a lot darker but still a love story. One of the most famous, in fact. But I think you might just be ready for it.” She laughed gently and watched his eyes fall to the two books she had given him, smiling as he took in their covers. One a copy of _Wuthering Heights,_ the other a tattered A5 notebook with a cartoon pug on it, the slogan ‘Pugs not Drugs’ written underneath in rounded, turquoise letters.

“Is it now? But which one?” he asked, his tone lighter now than before, his face looking like him again, happy and jesting and carefree. He patted the top of the two books stacked beside him, before slipping her notebook out from under _Wuthering Heights._ Lifting his tea, he moved to the opposite side of the bed, placing it on top of a stack of books and collapsing down beside Anne. She reached out to grab her notebook back but he jutted his arm above his head, her notebook out of her reach.

“Gil!” she screeched, laughing as she wrestled him to get her book back. He attempted to roll of the bed, swatting her away as he swung open the book and read a passage dramatically. 

“ _The stranger drew closer to Cordelia and she felt herself hold her breath. He was striking; tall and dark, with hair as black as a Winter’s night, and a haughty, handsome face. His eyes, however, were dark and deep and sad, and Cordelia could feel herself get lost in them…”_

“Shut up!” Anne squealed as she threw a leg over him, straddling his waist and pinning him to the mattress. She felt him shift underneath her, struggling to sit up as his face fell; his expression no longer playful and teasing. His eyes were rounded with surprise as he licked his lips slowly, his mouth dry and cottony suddenly. She could see his Adam’s apple bob at his throat as his eyes locked on hers. This felt wrong; too intimate. She shouldn’t have done it. She rolled off him, collapsing onto the bed beside him as he sat up, his strong back facing her. She felt her heartbeat hammer and, as his shoulders raised and dropped, she had a suffocating feeling that he was about to berate her for crossing a boundary. He had a _girlfriend,_ for crying out loud!

He turned to Anne abruptly and held the book up, his expression no longer playful and teasing. Instead, his brow was furrowed, his eyes questioning. “Is this _Gardner?”_

She felt herself blush, and a laugh gurgled from her mouth; partly from relief, partly from how uncomfortable she felt. Her hands covered her face in embarrassment. “Yes. You weren’t supposed to read that. Ramblings of a teenaged female mind…” She drew her hands away to see him leafing through the rest of her notebook, brow furrowing at some passages, mouth quirking into a momentary smirk at others.

“Before you ask, they are all Roy. I find him – inspirational.” She wasn’t sure why but that statement didn’t sit well with her when she said it aloud. Every love interest she wrote was a variation of Roy but in front of Gilbert she felt dull admitting it. Like the flat, moody characters she penned paled in comparison to the boy who sat in front of her; with a beating heart and questioning smirk.

“They never kiss,” he stated simply. “Why do they never kiss?”

“I don’t know…I can never get it right, I guess? Or the tension isn’t built right? I’m not sure, to be honest.”

“Maybe it doesn’t feel right, Anne?” he asked, his head turning to hers, his eyes locking onto her own again.

“Maybe…” she whispered, feeling jolt of electricity zinging between them.

“Maybe it’s not Gardner that she’s meant to kiss…”

The room felt dense with something unsaid. A heaviness that was cloying, tracing Anne’s skin and making it goosepimple. She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but he seemed closer than before, almost as if he had leant into her, his body twisted towards her. She felt drawn to him, her bottom lip worrying between her teeth as she watched his eyes descend upon her lips. He sucked in a breath and the sound of it caused her to stir, jumping suddenly to her feet. Gilbert drew back, bolt upright, his hand at the back of his neck as Anne fumbled around, buttoning her coat again.

“I just remembered; I have to go!”

“Right. Sure - okay.” His eyes were trained on the toes of his chucks, not daring to look her in the face. She watched him though as her fingers threaded her buttons through buttonholes. She wasn’t sure what just happened but if she didn’t know any better, she thought he might have kissed her. And worse still, she might have let him. She grabbed her bag and bolted to the door.

“I’ll see myself out,” she called, throwing the door open and running down the stairs.

“Anne.” His voice carried down the landing towards her. “Anne, wait…”

But she was gone, taking the last two stairs at a jump and breaking into a run the second she reached the porch. Her heart was hammering and it wasn’t just from the exercise. When she reached the gate of Green Gables she stopped, leaning over the fence gasping for air after her exertion. She wasn’t quite sure what that was. What had just happened? She imagined what Diana would think; how she would feel? Much, Anne imagined, like how she would feel if someone was kissing Roy behind her back. Sinking onto the grass with her back to the fence, she concluded she would forget about it. Pretend it never happened. She was most likely only feeling confused because she missed him anyway. They hadn’t spoken all week. And he had missed _her_ , that was all. Anne nodded firmly. She didn’t have a crush on Gilbert Blythe, she had a crush on Roy, and once again her mind was determined to advance further with Roy. That was all she needed to do to get over this.

**********

Saturday afternoon was cold, the sun weak and the sky lumpy and grey, threatening the first fall of snow of the winter season. The cool, winter sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting shadows onto the pale blue wallpaper, embossed in forget-me-nots. The two figures, however, were caught in a shadow, tangled on the bed in each other’s embrace. Diana Barry ran her hands deeper into the boy’s brown hair, his warm, kind eyes closing as he became lost in her kiss. He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, drawing her closer to him, her chest now flush with his. Shifting slightly, but never breaking their kiss, he moved his knee between her legs and used the momentum to roll her onto her back, his weight now pressing into her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, as he began trailing kisses slowly down her neck. She laughed breathily, tilting her head back to expose more of her pale, elegant neck. “Why are you laughing? Tu es tres belle.”

“Jerry,” she scolded playfully, guiding his face away from her neck so she could look into his deep, brown eyes. “You remember the deal. _No_ compliments. It’s only a little fun.” Something that appeared like sadness flickered over his handsome features, before his face rearranged into a smile.

“I remember.” He began his ministrations on her neck again. “No compliments.” Kiss. “No talking about feelings.” Kiss. “Nothing serious.” Kiss. “Only fun. Which, by the way, I love.” And then he kissed her lips again, deepening the kiss straight away, Diana whimpering quietly into his mouth as his tongue tangled with hers. She pulled him closer to her, loving the weight of his body on hers, the feel of his body pinning her into place as his hands began running up and down her sides, trailing lightly across her breasts. Her lips drew from his as he began kissing her neck again, his fingers nimbly and expertly undoing the tiny pearl buttons that fastened the front of her pale blue dress. His lips travelled to the exposed skin on her collar bone, his hand moving the fabric from her shoulder and kissing her there.

“Jerry…” she whispered; her voice thick with lust.

“Diana!” Diana’s eyes went wide as Jerry’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting hers and a look of panic crossing his face.

“Jerry, get off me. And do up your shirt, for God’s sake.” She whisper-shouted at him, throwing his flannel shirt to him from where it lay on her bedroom floor. They could hear voices downstairs and feet ascending the staircase, Diana thankful that at least her father had called up the stairs to let her know someone was coming.

“Your dress, Diana,” Jerry reminded her, motioning towards the buttons.

“Oh, goodness,” Diana fumbled at the buttons, tiptoeing up to kiss him quickly again before saying in a hushed, panicked voice, “You need to hide.”

“Would it be so bad if they knew. What if it’s only Cole or Anne?”

“Anne? Certainly not, I can’t have them knowing, especially not Anne. She’d take it as a personal insult. Hide, quickly! I’ll take them to my music room, but you need to sneak out. _Quickly_.”

As the footsteps drew nearer, Diana knew it was Anne, her tread distinguishable in her boots. Diana checked her appearance again to ensure she looked somewhat presentable but didn’t have time to really examine before the door handle moved. Diana pulled it open, just a crack, and peeked her head around to see Anne standing in the dim light of the hallway, confusion painted all over her pretty features.

“Anne,” Diana chirped a little too enthusiastically, before flushing bright red at how obvious it would be to her friend that she was hiding something. Or someone.

“Diana? Is this a bad time?”

Diana threw a look over her shoulder, her room hidden from Anne’s view by the door, to see Jerry standing by her bed, face pale but head nodding.

“No,” Diana said brightly, trying to convey a message that said ‘get out, unseen’ to Jerry through her eyes. “How about we go to the music room? In here is a mess.” She laughed awkwardly and slithered around the door, pulling it closed straight away. She grabbed Anne’s hand and pulled her towards the room at the bottom of the corridor that housed her instruments and sheet music.

“Diana, I know who was in there. You don’t need to be so secretive.” Diana stopped and looked around her quickly, before shoving Anne into the music room and closing the door behind them.

“How did you know there was someone in there? And how do you know about us?” she asked, her eyes wild with panic. If she was this obvious to someone that didn’t live here then what did her parents think?

“Diana…” Anne laughed, and drew her eyes from Diana’s feet to her hair slowly. Diana flushed and turned towards an old mirror propped in the corner of the room, taking her appearance in. Her buttons were done up unevenly, her having missed one of the holes in her haste, and her hair was wild, where his hands roamed through it. Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen and her pink lipstick was smudged around her bottom lip. She turned a darker shade of red, hands moving to her cheeks.

“Okay, point taken. But how did you find out about us?”

“I see him every day, do you not think I’ve started putting two and two together.” Anne smiled softly as she spoke, but something that looked almost like sadness settled on her features, her eyes looking less vibrant and more distant.

“You have to promise not to tell anyone, Anne. We’re testing the water, just having fun. I don’t want people to know.”

“Fine,” Anne answered, shrugging almost like she didn’t care when the peculiar expression on her features told Diana otherwise. “It’s not like he really talks about you to me anyway, so it’s fine.”

“He doesn’t? Then how did you know?” Diana felt indifferent about the fact that Jerry didn’t talk about her, she didn’t talk to people about Jerry. They met in the summer and Diana was struck by how mature he had become, tall and strong. It had started with dates, just two or three, but she knew they didn’t click well enough for a relationship, and she felt he knew that too. And so instead of embarking on a new relationship, he started sneaking through her window to share kisses and sometimes a little more. Just fun, that was their rule. She was attracted to him physically, but she didn’t really want a relationship with him. So how did Anne figure them out?

“Oh, you know, hints. He’s never available when you aren’t, little looks and gestures. I just sort of knew.” Diana nodded slowly, rushing to the window when she heard a soft drop below it, watching Jerry’s figure retreat amongst the trees that lined the driveway. “Is that him away? Diana I could have left!” Anne joined her at the window, peering amongst the thicket of great Beech trees to see the dark head. He was mainly out of sight now, a speck on the horizon.

“It doesn’t matter. I told him to go.” Diana offered Anne the wingback chair in the corner and she settled on the piano stool. “Is everything alright? You normally always call or text before you come over.” Anne frowned, and she studied her hands.

“Diana, I know he’s probably here, so I’m going to speak very quietly. I need to, you know, _advance_ things with Roy, And fast. I need advice. You know I’m rubbish at this stuff.”

Diana laughed her sweet little laugh, tinkling and merry. “He isn’t here. He’s out with Cole, Charlie and Fred.”

“Fred?” Anne’s lip curled in distaste. “Fred Wright? I didn’t realise they were friends.”

“They are. And what’s wrong with Fred?” Diana felt her face turn hot. She and Fred were lab partners this year for science, and although they worked well together, Diana felt that there was a little more chemistry happening between them than on the workbench. Their banter was easy, and he was clever, sweet and genuine. If she didn’t know any better, she would think she had a bit crush. She knew that was insensitive to Jerry, but what she shared with Jerry was just for fun. Sort of a practice run before college. A little taste of freedom before she shed her parents and Avonlea and experienced full freedom and independence for herself. And she wanted to be ready. Jerry was preparing her for that and Fred… Well, gentle kisses and long walks hand in hand with Fred was what she dreamed about. He made her feel special. But their flirting never went any further than that. Flirting. As much as she wished sometimes it would. Anne’s scoff brought Diana back to the room and out of the fantasies of her daydreams.

“Well, he’s fine I guess.” She said. “But he’s not particularly clever or interesting. Not like Roy and Cole and, well, _Gilbert_.”

“Anne that’s cruel. I find him to be very funny and interesting. He’s into history and wants to own his own business someday. And he’s clever.” At Anne’s raised brows and peculiar expression, Diana mumbled quickly to justify her defence, “I should know. I partner with him in labs.”  
“Okay, enough about Fred. Back to my point. I need to seduce Roy Gardner and I need your help.”

“Well, how far have you and him gone?” Diana asked, her eyes fixed on Anne now as she blushed. “You’ve had coffee dates, right?”

“Right. But we haven’t…” Anne trailed off, digging the toe of her boots into the carpet distractedly.

“Haven’t?” Diana prompted.

“Kissed or anything. At all. Like he hasn’t even tried.” Anne groaned then, throwing herself backwards and sinking further into the chair. Diana pursed her lips and drummed her fingers on her chin. Roy seemed to like her. He said they had fun together, so why was he waiting.

“Maybe make it more obvious, you know. Little touches to make him know you’re ready to be physical. Boys like that,” Diana suggested, resting her chin in her hands.

“Right, touch him. Okay,” Anne parroted, nodding her head as she mentally filed the advice.

“But _playfully,_ Anne. Don’t just be grabbing at him. You’re not Frankenstein’s monster.” Diana began to laugh at the serious look on Anne’s face, her lips pursed and brow furrowed.

“Oh, I’m no good!” Anne cried, throwing her hands up despairingly. “I’m rubbish with boys and I really like Roy!”

“Anne, don’t be angry, but are you sure you really even like him? Like, I always sort of pictured you with someone else…” Diana trailed off as Anne narrowed her eyes at her.

“Of course I like him! I’m here with you asking advice, aren’t I? Which is mortifying, by the way. Would I do that just for fun? And besides, Diana, there are literally no other boys in our school that I fancy…at all!”

“I always sort of thought – nevermind.” Diana returned her chin to her hand and pondered on flirting tips for Anne again. She had to admit to herself though, it did feel odd to be encouraging Anne to get closer to Roy. She and Cole always knew Anne and Gilbert would be perfect for each other even if Anne couldn’t see it. A blind man could have seen Gilbert Blythe was head over heels for her. Diana sighed and looked towards Anne, slouching glumly in the chair. “Try leaning in when he’s speaking. And draw as much attention to your lips as possible. Bite them or lick them.”

Anne ran her tongue along her bottom lip quickly in practice. Diana giggled at the sight, causing Anne to begin sniggering as well, hiding her face in a throw cushion as her skin turned pink. “Slower, Anne. You’re not meant to be licking them like he just offered you a T-bone steak!” Anne tried to regain her composure, sitting straight and trying again, her tongue slowly tracing her lip.

“Better,” Diana encouraged. “It’ll get him thinking about kissing you. And a glance at his lips will let him know that you’re thinking about kissing him.” Diana sat back, pleased with her advice, and watched as Anne nodded, taking it in. Her pale, freckled skin flushed suddenly and her eyes went wide. Diana watched her curious reaction. “Are you alright?”

Anne nodded silently. “How far have you gone?” she asked plainly, her eyes meeting Diana’s.

“Far enough,” Diana laughed. “But not all the way. Let’s not worry about that yet. You have to kiss him first.”

**********

As Anne walked up the path of Green Gables after her visit with Diana she still felt troubled with the advice Diana had shared. Looking at lips meant you wanted to kiss that person. Anne remembered Gilbert’s gaze moving down her face. But maybe she just imagined that? She was trying to forget all about that incident so it was plausible that she could have imagined it. If he and Diana were dabbling in a little more than kissing then Anne _must_ have imagined it. Why would you want someone like Anne, scrawny and freckled with horrid red hair, when you could have glorious Diana, with her raven black hair and skin as pale as the moon. There was no competition, really.

Anne pushed open the door to the kitchen, hollering a greeting to her parents. After hanging up her coat and moving towards the sitting room to where she could hear voices she stilled. If she wasn’t mistaken there was a voice that sounded like -

“Gilbert?” she said to the back sitting on the chair closest to the door. He stood and turned towards her, smiling shyly. “What are you doing here?” He had just come from Diana’s. Surely he should have been at home, dreaming about their next tryst instead of sitting in Anne’s lounge with a middle-aged woman, discussing the weather or school, or something else mundane that older people spoke to their children’s friends about.

“Anne,” Marilla scolded. “Is that any way to treat your guest? He came to see you, not a half hour back, and I told him he could wait. Go on up to your room now and take Gilbert with you.” Marilla stood, and lifted the tea tray with empty teacups on it from the coffee table, moving from the room. Anne nodded at him and led the way towards the stairs, him trailing behind.

“I just came by to return your book,” he explained as they climbed the stairs and closed themselves in her room. “And to apologise. I’m sorry about yesterday. It was - weird. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Anne rounded on him; her voice tight. “No need to apologise. It wasn’t weird at all. What was weird about it?” She took the book from his outstretched hand and replaced it on her shelf, ignoring his furrowed brows and how intently he seemed to be searching her face.

“Well, you left in such a hurry. I just felt we needed to talk, Anne.”

“Here it is,” Anne cried, slipping a book from the bookcase and brandishing it towards him dramatically. He looked down at it, a well-thumbed copy of _Emma_ by Jane Austen. He took it from her, his skin brushing hers slightly. As Anne’s skin began to tingle she imagined him and Diana wrapped together, sharing a _more than kiss_ moment and she felt the tingle dull, her insides hollow.

“Anne, can we talk?” he asked, his voice almost desperate. She really didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to hear what he was going to say. She imagined something along the lines of “ _Hey Anne, I know you think something happened yesterday, but let’s forget about it. I’m with Diana and we share super-hot kisses and things and I don’t really need you to be getting the wrong idea and ruining it for me.”_ And as much as she wanted to forget about it, she also didn’t really want to hear about him and Diana and their _escapades._ So instead she blurted, “You’re a boy right? How do you reckon I could get Roy to kiss me? What do you think is attractive in a girl?”

He jerked further from her; his voice high as he squeaked out a “What?” Anne flushed with mortification. He looked like he had been slapped. “You want advice on how to kiss Roy? From me?”

She nodded. “Well, you’re more experienced than me. I just thought…” His brow furrowed and his body collapsed on the edge of her bed, his legs unable to hold his weight. His eyes focussed on the desk, not looking at her. There was something almost dejected about him. Anne settled in her desk chair, curling her knees to her chest. “Well?” she prompted, suddenly guilty for having said anything in the first place but feeling too far gone to drop the conversation now.

“I’m no more experienced than you are.”

“Don’t be modest.” He looked stricken so she smiled at him, hoping that it was encouraging even though it made her face feel a little manic.

“I don’t know,” he said hollowly. He imagined all the kisses he had shared in his life. His first kiss with Jane Andrews and how she squealed afterwards and he declared he would “never kiss a girl again, EVER!” But he did, two years later with Christine Stuart as a dare at a party, the same night that Anne had kissed Cole; Gilbert laughing loudly to hide his heartbreak. He hadn’t kissed anyone since it.

“Just lean in, I guess?” he told her and his voice was dull and flat. He swallowed back. She hadn’t kissed Roy yet but if she wanted to that meant that it was over for him. He had no chance. _Why did I ever think I did?_ he thought.

“What?” Anne squeaked, tearing him from his melancholy thoughts. “I can’t kiss him! How do I know if that’s what he wants?” His eyes found hers and he huffed out a breathy laugh, his mouth quirking ever so slightly, despite his splitting heart.

“It should be what he wants, Anne. Look at you. Any guy would be lucky to have you want to kiss them.” Anne smiled at him, reaching out to take his hand in hers and squeezing it gently.

“Thanks, Gil. You’re the best.” He squeezed her hand back, too lost in the feeling of her cool palm on his skin and the flutter is caused his chest to notice how she stared at him; her eyes soft and roaming from his hair and down over his handsome face. She sighed and then, as if coming to, drew her hand from his abruptly. “And you’re right. I’m a modern woman. Why should I wait for him to make the first move? I’m going to take charge of this.” He nodded and lifted the copy of _Emma_ again.

“Good. Look, I should go,” he said, getting to his feet.

“Go?” she asked, bewildered. Had he not just sat here for a half an hour waiting for her? What was the hurry? “But you just got here.”

“Yeah, but I told Bash I’d be home before dinner. Thanks for this.” He tapped the book lightly before slipping it into a coat pocket. “ _Wuthering Heights_ was pretty tragical. Hopefully this will have a happier ending.”

“It will,” she smiled. “And who doesn’t love a tragical romance?”

“Sometimes people rather a happy ending. You know? Boy gets girl without years of pining and an unnecessary love triangle.” And then, as she laughed, he turned back towards the door to leave, spinning quickly again to pull something from his coat pocket. “Oh, and you forgot this.” He handed her the notebook she abandoned at his house the day before. “I read it.”

“Gil!” She reproached, face flushed tomato red. The stories in it were the inner most musings of her mind and she felt rather exposed and vulnerable at his reading them.

“I was thinking about how you couldn’t write a kiss. I thought I could help.”

She raised her brows. Well, that was thoughtful. “And what are your suggestions?”

“Well, this Wisteria guy, Cordelia doesn’t have much chemistry with him.” Anne flushed. No chemistry? That’s mad. He was her ideal. The book boyfriend she imagined for herself. “The other guy though, her friend Gardenia? I think they would work. It’s not an explosion, like with Wisteria; it’s slower. It’s not attraction…it’s, uhm – love.”

He looked at her pointedly, a sheepish smile on his face. Anne felt her mouth form a shocked little ‘o’ as she watched him nod and retreat from her room, that warm, engulfing look in his eyes again. The look that simmered her insides. She opened the notebook in her hands, noting little scribbles in Gilbert’s distinctive chicken-scratch handwriting. Suggestions and pointers to improve her story. Her eyes fell on a passage he had highlighted. A conversation between Cordelia and Gardenia. She read through the passage again, drinking in her description of his hair and eyes and looked towards the door. Like Wisteria’s physical appearance and personality had been drawn from life, so had Gardenia’s. He had been inspired by Gilbert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you, lovely humans who stick it out to read the notes!
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a little kudos or comment! I love to get them!
> 
> I will try to update at some stage next week as larger issues have divided my attention; I've been tying up loose ends with my classes before they split for the summer and I have been reading, researching and rallying (peacefully and socially distanced) to become a better ally to the Black community.  
> The world is super crazy and I know all social media feeds are filled with violence and sadness so I hope that this brings a little bit of escapism to you; some sweetness and a little love. 
> 
> Peace and love to you all x


	7. “But the truth is, also, simply this: love is indomitable.” Red, White and Royal Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne makes a move on Roy with unexpected results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, fellow fic lovers!  
> I have news and I don't know if it's something that normal writers celebrate but I have never made any claim to being normal and therefore I am. I REACHED 100 KUDOS! And I was buzzed off of it for a whole day. I'm an innocent creature really; so easily pleased!  
> So if you left me kudos, or are intending to; go raibh maith agat!
> 
> Part 7 is here and it is long, so grab yourself a wee cup of tea (I'm not against other beverages but am Irish and therefore have a bias towards tea) and settle in for the obligatory Christmas part of the saga.
> 
> Enjoy x

November had hardened into a bitingly cold December with crisp, white snow lying thick on the ground; the clouds falling from heaven and settling on the earth. The days were short; the velvety black sky and glimmering stars creeping in from the horizon and usurping the daylight just as the clocks passed late afternoon, when the streets and windows of Avonlea illuminated with ropes of warm white lights or colourful bulbs signifying the impending festive season.

It was mid-December and Anne sat on her hunkers in the middle of the sitting room, boxes of decorations surrounding her, the contents spilling out across the stained wooden floor, colourful ornaments and expanses of tinsel and garlands mingling with crumpled strips of old newspaper that had padded the decorations during storage. Matthew had dragged the boxes from the attic a day earlier, much to the chagrin of Marilla, who danced around the foot of the ladder warning him to be careful, and to not move that way “for goodness sake, Matthew, do you want to come crashing down off of that thing?”. When all the boxes were heaved from the roof space, Anne and Matthew carried them downstairs and, as a trio, they began decorating the tree that had been cut from a thicket of pine trees in the forest that bordered with Green Gables garden. Anne and Matthew had dragged it back, Marilla fussing after them with a broom when the needles shed in the hall, and they had up righted it in the centre of the room, taking pride of place in front of the window. Anne had strung lights onto it, and some glass decorations adorned its branches, the lights causing the glass to glow and the walls to shine with dapples of soft red, green and gold reflections. After that, they collapsed onto the sofa, Marilla and Matthew cuddling Anne close as they admired their handiwork. There was more to be added of course, but it would be done in time.

And that time was now, Anne carefully unwrapping the remaining baubles to be hung onto the branches, a soft smile on her face as she unearthed them from the boxes, reminiscing in the memories attached to each. Some were blown glass and purchased by Marilla. Some Anne had bought, mementos of places she had been or things she enjoyed. Some were made by her in school, like the lumpy clay snowman with the golden glitter scarf, and some bought by friends; such as the little carrot in a Santa hat, bought as a joke by Gilbert after he had found it at a craft fair he and Mary had attended the year she was pregnant with Delphine. A knock on the door broke her from the memory of the day he had given it to her, his leg bouncing in anticipation for her to open the brown paper parcel and cackling as she did, swatting at him playfully and threatening to whack him with a book again. She lay it gently back into the box and scrambled off the floor, kicking aside old newspaper and making her way through the hall. When she opened the door, Gilbert Blythe stood on the other side, wrapped up in his heavy grey duffle coat, a bobble hat pulled down over his ears, his dark coloured curls escaping around his forehead. He gestured to a bag he was carrying; a sturdy bag-for-life stuffed full of colourful parcels with an image from Raymond Brigg’s _Father Christmas_ printed on the front.

“I’ve come bearing gifts,” he grinned, his warm breath colliding with the cold air and creating puffs of clouds as he spoke.

“Come on in,” she urged, relieving him of the bag he carried as his cold numbed fingers fumbled with the toggles and zip on his coat. “It’d take your life out there today.”

He nodded in agreement, the two engaging in small talk as they ambled down the hall and towards the sitting room, Anne dropping the parcels onto the sofa, Gilbert stopping to survey the mess on the floor. “What are you up to? Decorating the tree?”

Anne nodded. “We started it last night but Matthew is working today and Marilla is doing a bit of Christmas shopping so I’ve been left to finish it.”

“Oh, that’s a pity. Do you need some help?”

Anne looked at him, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, an earnest smile on his face, and thought of the day when they last spent time together outside of school. It had been November, the day he had come around to return _Wuthering Heights_ and told her he read her notebook, she remembered, shocked that it had been so long and struck with the sudden realisation of just how much she missed him. It wasn’t that she was _avoiding_ him since then, as such, although it started that way. Initially, she just wanted to get her thoughts in order, turning down his offers to hang out at his house. And she concluded that all the confusing thoughts and new feelings she had experienced with him were just due to her missing him. She was also _possibly_ feeling a small tad jealous that he didn’t need her as much anymore now that he had Diana as a kindred spirit and confidante, but she would never admit that out loud. And whilst Gilbert remained decidedly tight-lipped about Diana, Diana was willing to share a lot more with Anne now that she knew. They spoke in code; about meetings for ‘projects’ and Diana’s home having a ‘guest for the evening’, that allowed the two girls to speak about the affair in front of their friends without any questioning looks or raising eyebrows. Diana was happy, telling Anne of how much fun she was having, but Anne was beginning to grow concerned, especially after asking Diana if she was in love when Diana gushed about how talented at kissing he was and she responded, “Don’t be ridiculous, Anne. Of course not. We both know it’s only for fun.” Anne, however, wasn’t convinced Gilbert really did know this, his skin colouring and his voice stammering whenever she brought up his ‘crush’ in conversation.

“You’re obsessed,” he had chortled, but his cheeks bloomed red and his eyes glowed softly.

“Tell me the truth, Blythe,” she had ordered.

But he had only smiled and said, “I will when we’re both ready to talk about it.”

The others had concluded long ago that it must have been either Ruby or ‘the pretty blonde girl from Dr Ward’s office’, them having met Winnie once at Jane Andrew’s eighteenth birthday party on account of her being best friends with Jane’s sister, Prissy. Only Diana, Anne and Cole knew the truth, Cole frustratedly telling the gang that they were completely wrong and “must have been absolutely blind if they couldn’t see the truth.”

And so, with Diana and Gilbert requiring more space and time to themselves, Anne was happy to distance herself further to oblige, figuring that she may as well get used to not being with them as often anyway. She began filling her time in other ways. She wrote more often and spent more time with Cole, going into town to buy Christmas presents and then falling into the padded chairs in Starbucks afterwards, colliding hot chocolates in large, white mugs with a ‘Cheers!’ over their success. Or she might spend some time with the girls, all of them wallowing in front of the TV as they binge-watched Netflix shows, their most recent one being _Never Have I Ever_ , and then arguing afterwards whether they were more Team Ben or Team Paxton (Anne being more Team Ben but it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the fact that his personality mildly reminded her of Gilbert’s. No, it had _nothing_ to do with that at all). She loved these days, her friendship with Josie Pye becoming stronger now they had a better understanding of each other. One day she even found herself spending some time with Fred Wright, an absolute happy accident that found the two of them putting in an afternoon wandering around an antique shop whilst Anne searched for some 70’s rock records for Gilbert, the Eagles being his favourite. And Anne was pleasantly surprised by Fred, finding him to be easy company; warm and funny with an infectious laugh. She began to understand why Diana thought so highly of him.

However, her favourite time was spent with Roy. The two had similar interests and so met for coffee often, Anne finding that Roy’s caffeine addiction was more troubling than his need for nicotine, and they chatted about what they were reading or her current writing project, before they meandered down the street, getting lost in an old bookshop there, her amongst the classic literature and him in a section at the back filled with dusty poetry anthologies. The only troubling thing about their time together was, as much as she wanted to kiss him, attempting all of Diana’s little tricks, the time never felt right; there were always too many people around, or it was too early in the day, or Anne had just ate and had forgotten chewing gum and she didn’t want his first kiss with her to taste like coffee and carrot cake. But despite how busy she had been, she missed Gilbert terribly. While Diana was keen to spend more time with him, he still tried to fit Anne in, wanting to spend exactly the same amount of time with her as before. One day, after asking if she wanted to come around to his to catch up on some Netflix, she told him that he didn’t need to keep asking her to hang out. Sure, they both had better things to be doing. He looked confused, a flash of hurt flitting across his features and a dull ‘oh’ tumbling from his lips, but Anne knew it was for the best. After that, he asked less and less, Anne always making an excuse when he did anyway. But now he was here, in her living room and it felt silly to send him away. He would know she had nothing else to be doing.

She nodded slowly. “Sure, help would be good.” He smiled such a brilliant smile that it made Anne feel elation, her heart seeming to become lighter with it. He pulled his hat off, ruffling his hand through his flattened curls, and draped it over the back of the chair alongside his coat. Anne smiled at how easily they fell back into being them; Anne and Gilbert, Gilbert and Anne. The distance didn’t change how easy their friendship was and soon the two were working together to string the delicate ornaments onto the prickly branches, both laughing when Gilbert unearthed the carrot in a Santa hat from amongst the wads of newspaper Anne had dropped it in earlier when he arrived to her door.

Three hours later, Anne and Gilbert had collapsed onto the sofa admiring their handiwork. The ornaments twinkled in the glow of the fairy lights and they had hung a garland spiked with dried oranges and red berries across the mantel piece on the fireplace, Anne adding scented pinecones that filled the room with the comforting aroma of warm spices and cinnamon that mingled harmoniously with the crisp freshness of the Christmas tree. Then they filled the boxes with the paper wadding again and carried them to the foot of the ladder, Anne passing them to Gilbert one at a time as he climbed the ladder and shoved them back into the roof-space. After basking in the glow of the lights and how beautiful and warm the room looked now, Gilbert slithered to the floor and pulled the packages he brought towards him. They were all different shapes and sizes, wrapped haphazardly in red paper covered in jolly cartoon reindeers.

“These are from us,” he explained, reading the labels on each one carefully. “That’s for Matthew, and this one is Marilla’s. And that one.” He sorted the parcels into piles and began stacking them at the foot of the tree. “This one is for you, from Bash and Dellie,” he said with a smile, stuffing a lumpy parcel under the tree.

“Has Dellie been put in charge of wrapping?” Anne teased, a smirk playing on her lips as she analysed the presents, covered in crumpled paper and an excess of sticky tape.

“Hey, don’t be cruel. I tried my hardest,” Gilbert laughed, lifting a cushion and walloping Anne with it, catching across her knees.

“I was joking!” she cried, swatting at him but he caught her hand in his and turned it slowly, palm facing upwards. Anne’s laugh died in her throat as she watched him, his finger lightly tracing the lines that mapped her hand, her skin tingling as the soft pads of his fingers trailed the length of her love line. He looked up at her, his expression tender and smiling, his eyes warmed by the glow of the lights.

“This,” he said, his voice like black velvet; soft and deep. “Is for you.” He reached into the bag again, lifting out a thin black box. He placed it into her outstretched hand and curled her fingers around it. “From me.” She swallowed back as his eyes met hers again.

“You didn’t need to get me anything,” she managed to gasp, drawing her hand from his like her skin had been branded and lifting the parcel to her ear, shaking it gently for a clue to what was inside. “Can I open it now?”

“Is it December 25th?” he asked teasingly, his mouth quirking at the corner exposing the delectable dimple there. The hand that held hers flexed gently before he rubbed it against his jeans.

She rolled her eyes. “ _No.”_

 _“_ Well then, no.” He was smiling but she could see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, his eyes search her face with that peculiar expression that he saved only for her. It made her feel warm; heat ripple through her from the roots of her hair to her toes, centralising in her stomach and deep into her core. Her breath shuddered out as his hand brushed her legs, his fingers trailing soft, zig-zagged patterns onto her skin.

Anne stood suddenly, feeling claustrophobic by his closeness. She carried the box to the tree and stooped to tuck it in among the gifts stacked there. Her skin seared where he touched it, and she brushed her hand against her woollen tight clad thigh, hoping in vain that the friction would make the burning sensation disappear; from her skin and her centre. It struck her then that he had done the same, although she knew it wasn’t for the same reason. What was _wrong_ with her? It seemed that despite their distance the past few weeks, the unsettling feelings she had towards him kept creeping back, intense and startling, making her fearful of being near him in case he could read it on her face.

“Do you mind if I stay a while longer?” Gilbert asked from his spot on the floor. “I haven’t seen you in ages and, believe it or not, I’ve missed you.” When Anne turned towards him he was grinning but his eyes were still glowing warm and sweet. She missed him too, and it would be rude to send him away, despite how much she currently wanted to.

“Alright.”

“Pizza?” he asked, and she rolled her head back, emitting a breathy laugh.

“Oh, okay. But only because you twisted my arm.”

***********

The pizza had arrived, being passed over the threshold by a swaggering delivery boy, who smiled as Anne handed him cash and asked, “Did you want to go for a drink?”

Anne’s eyes rounded into saucers, her skin flushing to the same shade as her hair. She mumbled, “Uhm, no, thank you.” And when Gilbert’s head popped around the door jamb with a questioning look to investigate what was taking so long, she stated confidently, “I’m flattered but I have a boyfriend.”

The delivery boy smirked, his face twisting into a teasing smile that his professionalism tried but failed to fight back. “No, I was wondering if you had ordered a drink with your pizza?”

At that, Anne flushed even brighter, as scarlet as an emergency light on a fire engine; a hearty chuckle ripping from Gilbert’s throat and echoing down the hall. When she remained frozen to the spot, Gilbert stepped in front of her, tipping the driver and saying, “No thanks. Alright, have a nice day.”

When the boy had left, and Gilbert had closed the door, Anne’s hands flew to her mouth, cupping them in shock.

“Oh my God. I am so bloody awkward. Why did I say that?”

Gilbert sniggered, leaning against the wall, his hands on his stomach. “Did you think he had asked you for a drink? Anne, that was hilarious!” And he dissolved once more into thunderous laughter.

“You can’t tell anyone that happened,” she whispered urgently, when he had righted himself and they relocated to the living room, sitting opposite each other at either end of the sofa, legs crossed. “Cole would never let me live it down.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” he swore, lifting a slice of pizza onto a chintzy plate covered in white daisies that Anne had retrieved from the kitchen. He took a bite, chewing pensively, hesitating and then asking, “Have you told people I was your boyfriend before?”

Anne stopped, eyes meeting his, a slice of pizza hovering between her plate and her open mouth. “Yes,” she stated plainly. “A few times.” She felt her skin prickle uncomfortably at his slow nod, how his eyes broke from hers and dropped to his plate. Was he embarrassed that she had? Mortified that there were people that thought he was with her?

“I haven’t done it often,” she explained quickly. “Just, you know, if a creepy boy won’t leave me alone at a party, or that time the guy that worked in McDonald’s offered to pay for my order if I agreed to go out with him. I haven’t in ages.”

His mouth quirked into a slight smile, imagining how many people in the world thought they were a couple; who looked at them both and thought _‘what is a girl as beautiful as her doing with him?’_

“Oh, God, are you angry? I didn’t mean anything by it. It was only because you were there and it was an easy way to get out of awkward situations. I do it all the time. Diana does, too. We’ve both pretended to be dating Cole before and I’ve pretended I was her girlfriend more times than I can count - not that she’d need me to now.” She felt her mouth run away with her, desperate to put him at ease. If he was uncomfortable with her saying it because he thought she fancied him, he had nothing to worry about. She knew where they stood, and he was with Diana anyway, so if she did fancy him, what would it matter? _No wait, that wasn’t right,_ she thought. _She didn’t fancy him. She couldn’t…_

“Don’t be silly, I’m not mad. I was just curious. And did that guy in McDonalds not give you that order for free anyway?” They both laughed and Anne nodded enthusiastically, mumbling a “he did” through a mouthful of pepperoni.

Gilbert chuckled softly at the memory. So much of his life was shared with her. And he couldn’t picture ever sharing it with anyone else; these quiet little moments, tucked away in a living room, just the two of them, reminiscing on their past. He swallowed back, an awkward but pressing question entering his mind that was screaming to be answered.

“Have you ever thought about it before?” he murmured, watching her delicate fingers negotiate another slice onto her plate.

“What?” Her face screwed with curiosity as she watched him run his hands through the back of his hair. He was nervous, and so was she suddenly, unsettled by the earnestness in his face.

“Actually going out with me?” he clarified, his face flushing the deepest shade of red she had ever seen before. She could feel the blood drain from hers; she must have been as white as a sheet.

“No,” she almost shouted at him, her need to deny the fluttering in her stomach and thumping in her chest making the declaration rip from her more aggressively than she intended. “Why would I ever…Have _you?_ I – I mean… of course you haven’t…Not with…I – What? No!”

He stared at her; his eyes wide. Why did he just ask her that? What a ridiculous thing to say when he knew she didn’t feel the same. She had been in love with a fictional character since she was twelve and he knew that. She was in love with that same fictional character personified now. His heart felt like it had cracked; exposing a deep ravine that his pain stampeded through. He shrugged dejectedly.

“No.” He choked. “I haven’t.”

An awkwardness hung in the air between them after, only broken after Gilbert told her a terrible story about a man who shared with him in great detail the very pressing reason he was at the doctor’s office that day, Anne groaning and recoiling with horror at the punchline. When the pizza was finished, they switched on the television, Anne stretched out on the sofa, head in Gilbert’s lap and, tentatively, he let his fingers toy lightly with her hair. They were watching a trivia gameshow; questions being hurtled at the flummoxed contestant in a beat the clock round.

 _“Which Jane Austen novel features Mr Knightly as the romantic lead?”_ the enthusiastic presenter asked.

_“Uhm…”_

“Emma,” Gilbert and Anne answered together.

_“oh, gosh, I don’t know.”_

“It’s Emma!” they cried again.

 _“Northanger Abbey?”_ There was a loud buzz.

 _“It was Emma,”_ the presenter trilled.

“Should have listened to us,” Gilbert joked, and he twisted one of Anne’s braids in his hand, fingers stroking the skin at the nape of her neck and trailing amongst the soft red strands. A shiver ran down Anne’s spine, the feeling of his hands in her hair oddly intimate. Anne rolled onto her back so she was looking up at him, the jut of his chin and his sculped jawline. She felt herself inhale sharply. He glanced down at her, face crumpling in confusion at her bizarre expression; eyes sparkling, almost dreamy. She never looked at him like that.

“Are you ok?” he asked her, brushing her hair back from her face. At the silken brush of the pads of his fingers on her face, tickling at her freckles, she threw herself forward, sitting bolt upright, her plaits whipping behind her and falling over her shoulders.

“Yes,” she gasped. His brow furrowed and he reached out to touch her, attempt to calm her suddenly manic actions. She pulled away from him, mind racing wildly to find a topic to distract him from her odd behaviour. “Did you ever finish _Emma?”_ she blurted, remembering they once had a book club and he hadn’t asked for a new book in a while.

“Anne,” he breathed out, before laughing gently. “Is that all? You had me worried. You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“I just forgot I had never asked you. You never gave it back.”  
“I haven’t seen you in forever. I never got the chance.”

“Oh. Right,” she inhaled deeply. He had just caught her checking him out, her eyes admiring the angle of his jaw, resting on the point of his splendid chin. _Did he notice?_ she wondered, but it didn’t seem like he did. He didn’t seem embarrassed or annoyed, just as good natured as ever. “Well, what did you think of it?”

He quirked his eyebrow. “Honestly?”

“No. Lie to me, Gilbert. It thrills me,” she drawled sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“I think I’m about to throw it all away for a Georgian gentleman landowner who makes twelve thousand a year. Do you think I’m handsome enough to tempt them?” He flashed her a goofy smile; the one he saved for when he told a corny joke he knew only she would enjoy. And she did; there he was again, her best friend who could make her shake with laughter. “Honestly, these guys are all so damned suave. I totally understand why you get so fixated on them.”

“Yes, they are superior male specimens,” she confirmed. “Mr Darcy is the dream, _obviously,_ but Mr Knightly is _quite_ underrated I think.”

“And why is that?” he asked her, twisting to face her where she sat at the other end of the blue velvet sofa, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle.

“Well, they’ve grown up together, him and Emma. He knows her better than anyone else and, even though he knows it first, their love is steady and gentle. It’s friendship that blossoms into something more. I think that’s really special.” Her cheeks glowed, two pink spots appearing on the apples, a sweet smile on her lips. He felt his breath catch, exhaling slowly as she stretched her long, shapely legs wrapped in black tights towards him. His foot teased at the ruffle hem at the bottom of her dress.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “I suppose it is.” Once again, their gazes locked, him getting lost in the depths of her ocean blue eyes, her basking in the heat of his warm, hazel ones; eyes that were so familiar to the other that they could draw them from memory but both sets drowning in an emotion the other couldn’t identify.

After being locked in a silent trance for what was a minute on the clock, but felt like an hour, Anne woke from the spell, an apparition of Diana materialising from the depths of her mind, clapping her hands purposefully. “I suppose it’s time for your next assignment then.” And she clambered over his legs to stand.

“Maybe something a little more modern this time?” he suggested. “No petticoats.”

“Right. No petticoats.” And she left the room, pausing briefly on the stairs when he was out of sight to clutch at her chest, her heart hammering against her ribcage underneath. This wasn’t right; not at all. He wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted Mr Rochester; a storm cloud anthropomorphised into a man – dark, moody, brooding, a penchant for caffeine and the occasional cigarette. Not _Gilbert Blythe,_ the boy who she struck with her book. The boy who had shook her hand and called a truce a week later, when he pleaded “please don’t be mad for keeps” and she gave in. They had been steady friends for so long and he knew too much; all of the things that made her wholly undesirable. Her temper and her need to be right. Her absolute disdain for rudeness which makes her declare loudly “I absolutely hate when people (insert offending rude action here)” and he shushes her, face flaming red, throwing looks over his shoulder to make sure the offending person hadn’t heard. They normally had. How fiercely feminist she was until it came to purchasing tampons, embarrassment colouring her cheeks, especially if the sales assistant was male, that if she ever needed them when they were together, he bought them, slamming the box down on the counter confidently and rolling his eyes at her when she squeaked her mortified thank you.

No, he wasn’t at _all_ what she wanted and she certainly wasn’t what he wanted. He could have had his choice of beautiful girls and he had hand selected the most beautiful of all; Diana was an orchid personified, gentle and elegant and deserving of all the happiness the world could provide. And Anne would never have acted on this whoosh of feeling that submerged her. She was a lot of things but a disloyal friend was not one of them.

She realised that her body was locked in a civil war; head and heart at loggerheads. Just as her head decided she would make her feelings known to Roy; her heart had developed a crush on one Gilbert Blythe.

**********

The footfall in Dr Ward’s office was becoming lighter, the Christmas rush being prioritised over flu jabs and appointments for the doctor to assess a cold. It was only the regulars who came in now; Thomas Lynde, who had his blood sugars checked weekly, Matthew Cuthbert, who nodded gruffly at Gilbert before disappearing behind the oak door of the doctor’s office. Gilbert knew he had a heart complaint, Anne had told him, and Matthew appeared once every month for a check-up and to see if there was any need for alterations to his medication. Other than that, though, it was eerily quiet, Gilbert and Winnie both perched at the front desk with Mrs Bell, the receptionist, who became easily annoyed at the two youths invading her space.

“Can’t you find something to do?” she questioned sharply, after the phone trilled and both she and Winnie had instinctively reached for it at the same time.

“Everything is done,” Gilbert answered, and it was true. He and Winnie had spent the quiet spell organising files, shredding old paperwork, emailing through prescriptions to awaiting pharmacies and, when all that was done, reorganising the same files.

“Well, I can’t have you tripping around my feet here. You’ll have to go somewhere else.”

Gilbert closed his book, the newest one from Anne named _Red, White and Royal Blue_ , and reluctantly got to his feet, sliding the swivel chair he rested on under the desk neatly. He wandered through the waiting room, pushing through the door at the back marked ‘Staff Only’ that led into a pokey kitchen; a counter running along the back supporting a kettle and a sink, cupboards housing countless mugs, all stained brown with years of use. He slipped into one of the three chairs that encircled the table and reopened his book. It was a new story for him, a type of love he had never read about before, but Anne grinned when she gave it to him, telling him it made her heart soar.

It was nice spending time with her again. She had grown distant since mid-November, barely talking to him and constantly making up excuses to why she couldn’t see him. He heard through Charlie Sloane that she was spending more time with Roy. That was inevitable, he supposed, and maybe she had sussed him out and didn’t want his dead weight interfering with her new relationship. It couldn’t be too comfortable having your best friend hanging around you and your new boyfriend all the time, especially when said best friend was hopelessly in love with you. Not that Roy was her new boyfriend; not yet anyway. Charlie had told him that too. Charlie and Roy were friendly, both enjoying a competitive game of soccer, they discovered during a PE lesson, and Charlie declared to Gilbert that Roy was a really cool guy, even adopting a leather biker jacket like his into his wardrobe, and that Gilbert would probably like him. To Gilbert’s dead pan expression, Charlie laughed and said, “Oh, it’s Anne, isn’t it? I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Roy’s been spending a lot more time with _Cole_ , too.” Gilbert didn’t really understand the infliction he emphasised Cole’s name with. Sure, Cole was gay, but Roy wasn’t. Gilbert seen his eyes flicker over the girls sometimes, or his gentle smile at Anne. He had Anne swooning over him, for crying out loud! There was no way he would be interested in Cole and Cole was too good a friend to Anne to be interested in Royal Gardner.

The door squeaked open, disturbing the solemn silence that Gilbert sat in, reflecting on his conversation with Anne and her ponderings on love blossoming from friendship. Winnie bustled through it, carrying a chipped mug with ‘World’s Best Mum’ emblazed on the side in hot pink lettering.

“I offered to make her tea. Keep her sweet,” she laughed, head tilting towards the door that concealed the pair from the glaring eyes of Mrs Bell. Then she stopped suddenly, a sly smile on her pretty features and a sweet laugh tinkling from her lips. “Did you pick that seat on purpose, Mr Blythe?”

“No. Why?” he asked, looking up at her quizzically and then following her eye line to above his head, where a measly bunch of mistletoe hung, laced there by the cleaners as a joke. “Oh.”

“Well, providence would put you there and me here, so if you want to partake in tradition, I don’t mind.” She smiled at him flirtatiously and made her way across the kitchen to the worktop, filling the kettle and lifting two more mugs out of the cupboard, tossing a tea bag in each.

“Aren’t we still in the throes of Mono season?” he asked cheekily but she swung around and tossed a teabag at his head.

“And just what are you insinuating?” she chortled, him shaking his head, features contorted with mirth and returning to his book. She was pretty, Winnie. The others had told him at Jane Andrew’s birthday that she was “drop dead gorgeous. They would be beautiful together.” But he shook his head and told them she wasn’t the one for him. Diana had eyed him suspiciously, dark eyes narrowing at him as if she was sizing him up, and Anne glanced between them two before quickly changing the subject. Winnie was beautiful and he knew she flirted with him shamelessly, but he certainly wasn’t interested. Her icy blue eyes and white-blonde curls paled in comparison to Anne’s flame red hair and eyes as blue as a mermaid lagoon, and her meek temperament didn’t excite him like Anne’s did; he never knew whether he and Anne would spend all afternoon laughing or whether she would be shooting insults his way over a minor disagreement. But he didn’t care; he loved her outbursts of temper.

When he didn’t answer, Winnie turned to him, leaning her back against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest. “What are you reading?” she asked, ducking her head to peek at the front cover.

“Oh, this,” he said, flashing the cover of the novel at her. “My friend gave it to me. We have a little book club thing. She gives me books and I read them. Some sort of romantic hero education.”

“Seems like an interesting choice,” she observed, eyeing the two male characters illustrated on the sleeve. He laughed at her confusion.

“Yeah, I’ve never read anything like it before, but love is love is love. Anne said it made her _heart soar_ , so here I am, reading about Henry and Alex falling in love.” He gestured at the book again. “And everyone deserves love, right?”

She nodded at him, noting the soft look in his eyes when he talked about his friend; when he thought of her. Winnie liked Gilbert. She liked him _a lot._ But it seemed as though all her flirting and teasing touches never made an impact, never imprinted on his heart. She felt dull at the consciousness that she now knew why. His heart belonged to someone else.

“I suppose you’re right.” After she brewed three cups of tea, she slid a mug in front of Gilbert and sat opposite him. “What is she like? Your friend?”

“Anne? She’s… she’s a force to be reckoned with.” He smiled gently, lips curving as he lifted the mug to his mouth.

“Does she know you have feelings for her?”

He sputtered tea across the table, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What gave you that idea?” he asked incredulously, but he knew his expression gave him away. He could feel the spots of colour heating his cheeks.

“Well you do, don’t you?” At her earnest expression and open gaze, he felt exposed. Like she would be able to see right through him if he told her a lie.

“Yes.”

“And why haven’t you told her?”

“She likes someone else.”

“I see,” Winnie answered, and she covered his hand with hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “She must be mad.”

Then she disappeared through the door again, bringing Mrs Bell a cup of now lukewarm tea.

********

Anne sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the mirror, spooked by the crazed look in her own eyes. She had spent the last 20 minutes carefully lining them with a thin flick of black liquid liner and cursed inaudibly under her breath when one line was significantly thicker than the other. She would have to redo it. Her hands trembled as she wiped her eyes clean and began the liner again.

“You’re terribly quiet today, Anne,” Cole said, head falling to the side as he observed her. He was rubbing hair pomade through his hands, and quickly worked it into his sandy blonde hair. “Aren’t you excited about tonight?”

The gang were going out tonight. School had just finished for Christmas break and the Avonlea seniors planned a pub crawl; “12 pubs of Christmas style”, Tillie cried excitedly, drawing them all to her as she gushed about their itinerary; where they were starting and, if all went to plan, where they would end up, along with the nonsensical challenges they had to carry out at each establishment; order a drink without speaking in one, swap shoes with another member of your group in another, call the barman ‘Guinness’ (as in “Can I have a bud, Guinness?”) and if he gave you a Guinness instead, you had to down it in one. Anne loved the idea of tonight, a last night of frivolity with her friends before they all broke apart for the Christmas season. Diana would be at the Manse with Cole and Aunt Jo and Josie would be visiting her family in Toronto. But worry had settled heavily on her chest for two reasons. One was their age. The majority of the gang had already turned eighteen but Anne and Ruby were the babies of their group and they knew that the majority of places would refuse to serve them because of their lack of ID. When she voiced these worries, Josie told her it was all about confidence.

“Just look them directly in the eye and act like you belong there,” she told Anne, and after a quick demonstration of how to flick your hair and confidently stare down a bar tender, she smiled. “See. That’s all it takes.”

Anne wished it was that easy. If they had been allowed to dress up in their normal garb; mini dresses and flippy skirts, Anne imagined she would have looked older. Instead, Tillie also insisted it was themed.

“Christmas jumpers,” she squealed at them, pretty round face beaming with excitement. “The uglier the better.”

So, Anne was wrapped in a lumpy Christmas jumper; a childish pale blue jumper with a knitted narwhal on it, the words “Bye Buddy. Hope you find your dad” embroidered around him. She owned a few, but this one was the best of a bad bunch, the others with jingling bells or pudgy reindeers; its humour redeemed it to her slightly.

“I’m excited enough,” she answered Cole, groaning in frustration at her eye liner accidentally jabbing her eye. “I just wish we didn’t look so ridiculous.”

She blinked away the tears that pooled at her waterline, wiping away any dark smudges of liner and inspecting herself in the mirror again. Not perfect, but ok.

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Cole laughed and he lifted a hairbrush and knelt behind her, combing through her thick locks. She watched their reflections in the mirror, Cole in his chic black jumper, a cheeky ‘Santa baby’ slogan knitted onto it. He nipped at his bottom lip with his teeth in concentration as he braided her hair, used the tail of the brush to thicken the braids, making them messier, then he took each plait and pinned it around her head like a halo, pulling soft curls from the front to frame her face. He squeezed her shoulders in his hands and then dropped a kiss to the crown of her head. “There, now you look beautiful.”

**********

Cole had taken a bottle of vodka to Green Gables with him, the two of them pouring a few generous measures and knocking them back quickly before they left the house to meet their friends. And now, as they stood outside their fourth pub of the evening, Anne could feel the warm, fuzzy feeling of the alcohol wear off, having been refused service in the last three bars. She was disappointed with the night so far. Everyone else had been served. Even Ruby had managed to wrangle a drink, Moody purchasing them for her after the bar tender had refused to serve her. But when anyone approached for Anne, they were refused.

“I’m not in the habit of serving to minors,” the bar tender had explained in clipped tones to Cole when he attempted to buy Anne a drink.

“Don’t hover so close next time,” he grumbled to her when he came back empty handed. But Anne needed a drink. She needed some Dutch courage tonight, the second thing that worried her about tonight still laying heavily on her chest. Gilbert and Diana would be together tonight and she didn’t know if she wanted to watch them together, so she was going to distract herself. She was planning on finally kissing Roy. And soon, too.

“Can we just go in?” Jane complained, drawing her vintage, seventies suede jacket closer to her body and tensing her shoulders in the cold. “It’s absolutely freezing. Does it matter that it’s not one we planned?”

Tillie huffed in protest. “I spent ages on the list! It’s not my fault that they won’t serve everyone.”

“No, it’s not,” Josie answered. “But it’s going to be a dull night if we keep getting turned away from everywhere, so let’s just forget the itinerary and go in somewhere that will give Anne a drink.”

Anne beamed at Josie. Despite their rocky start, she came to realise Josie was a very good ally to have. Her loyalty was ferocious and her tongue was sharp. You couldn’t say anything rude about Josie Pye’s friends in front of her and walk away with your dignity intact.

“But in there?” Tillie questioned, her eyes wide and afraid as she looked towards the rundown looking building in front of them. “My dad told me the guys that own here are swindlers.”

“What’s a swindler?” quizzed Cole, his face screwed in confusion. He had continued drinking steadily and was now in quite merry form but seemed easily lost by their conversation.

“You know… bad guys.”

“So, they have no appreciation of the law then?” Josie confirmed and to Tillie’s nervous nod she said, “Good.” And Josie grabbed Anne’s hand and led them out of the chilly, snow covered street and through the door of the derelict looking building.

‘The Gold Rush’ was an old saloon style pub; the wood dark and heavy and the upholstery a deep shade of cranberry red. The wallpaper was yellowed and aged, peeling at the corners on some sections, but the music was lively and the bar looked well stocked, full bottles of spirits lined up against a mirrored panel, like soldiers being led to battle. The two men behind the bar eyed the youths as they entered, sharing a knowing glance at the other as they polished drinking glasses. There were few others in the bar; an old man on a high stool slumped against the counter, a group of middle-aged men huddled in the corner, watching football highlights on a television mounted on the wall.

Cole breathed in deeply, inhaling the musky scent of old wood and stale liquor.

“I have a good feeling about here,” he declared, then he marched to the bar, dragging Anne at his heels and declared to the men there, “Two vodka and cokes please, my good fellows!”

The wirier of the two eyed Cole and Anne steadily, but nodded to the other, a plumper man with a friendly face and dark beard, and he bustled about pouring their drinks. When they were placed in front of them and money was exchanged, Cole spun to the others and proclaimed, “This is the place!” He and Anne clinked glasses and laughed as they tipped their drinks back, Anne wincing as the alcohol burned the back of her throat. She didn’t need to drink to have fun. She normally had just as good a time as the others as long as the music and the company were good but tonight she felt bolstered by it, confidence oozing from her as the seasonal music was turned up over the sound system per Jane’s request.

Over an hour later, Anne was well and truly feeling the effects of her alcohol. They had been joined by Prissy Andrews and her college friends, a familiar blonde amongst them who shrieked and threw her arms around Gilbert when she spotted him. Anne and Diana were perched on high stools, Diana having to reach out occasionally to grab Anne’s elbow to steady her when her weight leant too far to one side, causing her to stagger lopsided from the seat.

“Do you feel threatened by her?” Anne asked Diana, eyes narrowed as she watched Gilbert twirl Winnie under his arm, beaming at her as he awkwardly shuffled his feet to _Step into Christmas_ by Elton John.

Diana giggled; her face flushed with alcohol. “Why would _I_ feel threatened? I don’t even know her and you can’t blame her for shooting her shot.”

Anne took Diana’s hand and forced it upright, aiming for a high five and then missing. Both girls cackled. “Female solidarity, sister! We shouldn’t be tearing each other down.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Diana cried and the girls collided glasses, red liquid sloshing over the rim and spilling on to the tiled floor. After throwing back a drink, Diana turned to Anne and asked, “Do you feel threatened by her?”

Anne puzzled over the question, hiccoughing as the alcohol hit her stomach. “Why would I be _threatened_?”

“Yes, Anne! That’s the attitude. I love the confidence!” And then Diana forced Anne to take another drink, holding her glass to her lips. When she had swallowed it, Diana took her hand, slamming her own glass to the table and pulled Anne to her feet, dragging her onto their makeshift dancefloor in the middle of the room.

The crowd in the pub was raucous now; Prissy and Jane Andrews were trying to outdrink each other, the crowd gathered around them chanting. “We like to drink with Prissy, cause Prissy is our mate! And when we drink with Prissy, she downs her drink in - Eight! Seven! Six! Five!...”

Charlie and Jerry were arguing with the football fans in the corner, the conversation heated but good natured. Moody twirled Ruby around the tiles to the music, looking like the cat that got the cream because she was willingly holding his hand. The others were dancing too; Tillie and Cole engaged in a dance off, Josie filming the highlights for her Instagram story as she bopped to the beat. Gilbert was bouncing and twisting along to the music with a group of Winnie’s college friends. Roy lounged at the bar, leaning against the dark polished wood and watching the antics of those on the dance floor, his eyes dark, a crooked smile on his lips. Anne watched him as she and Diana spun and swayed. Diana glanced between them and then leant into Anne, whispering into her ear, “Go talk to him. I can stay with Gilbert.” She gave Anne a reassuring squeeze and Anne watched her go, disappearing into the crowd to find Gilbert, his face widening in surprise as he spotted her and then drawing her into a half hug as he shouted introductions to those around him.

Anne turned back towards Roy, her stomach fluttering nervously at what she was about to do, her mind fighting off the feeling that this wasn’t right. That she wasn’t sure this was really what she wanted. She stumbled out of the crowd, the alcohol affecting her gait, and marched towards him.

“Hi there,” she squeaked at him and he angled his body towards her, still leaning against the countertop.

“Hello. You look like you’re having fun.”

“I am,” she answered him and she attempted to hop onto the bar stool gracefully but slipped off it, cursing the smooth burgundy leather and all five foot four inches of her under her breath for the blunder. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as she had to awkwardly clamber onto the leather topped seat. “Are you? You look a little lonely over here.”

“You know what? I am.” He grinned at her and she grinned back. His face was different when he smiled, his features brightening like a lightbulb had lit internally and was illuminating his eyes and his ivory skin from within him. He fumbled in his pocket and drew something out into his hand. “I was going to give you this later but now seems as good a time as any.”

Anne stared at the parcel in his hand; a thin, black gift box about the length of Anne’s palm. She gasped, looking back into his face earnestly as she took the box from him. “Oh, you had no need to do that!”

He shrugged and smiled at her. “Just a little something to say thank you for being such a great friend. You have made this move a heck of a lot easier.” She beamed at him. She mattered to him. She didn’t know she needed to hear that.

“Can I open it?” she asked him coyly, gently touching his arm as per Diana’s instructions. He shook his head.

“Not until Christmas day.”

“Alright then,” she husked, hoping that dropping her voice an octave would make her sound a little sexier; more like someone he would want to kiss. She tucked the box inside her cross-body bag and looked back to him, dropping her eyes to his lips, slightly parted and quirked into a smile. He looked nervous, staring at his hands, his fingers knitting together.

 _This was it_ , Anne thought, leaning in towards him. _When he lifted his head again, his mouth would be directly level with hers and she would kiss him._ How did you kiss someone? In her slightly hazy state, she forgot. Slightly panicked and about to make a hasty retreat, Roy lifted his face to her again and – thwack! His chin collided with her nose. She drew away with a howl of pain, eyes wide with shock at the force of the connection.

“Anne! Oh, Anne, I’m sorry! What in God’s name were you doing?” Roy asked, grabbing at her shoulders to steady her and peering at her face, drawing away at the sight of the blood that gushed from her nose and spilt over her lips. Anne could taste copper. “I’ll find Diana!” And Roy was off, pushing into the crowd and gesturing wildly at Anne, Diana and Gilbert’s faces screwed in concentration, trying to hear his words over the music and then both of their heads snapping towards her, worry etched onto their features as they spotted her bloodied face. She must have looked like something from a horror film, she realised. Oh, it was excruciating. She had never been more embarrassed!

Anne flushed under their gazes and she kicked forward, slipping off her stool and stumbling towards the bathroom.

“Anne… Anne!” Strong hands grabbed at her waist and she didn’t need to turn around to see who it was. His fingers scorched through her ridiculous jumper and branded her skin; she was sure ten spots were imprinted on her skin, the circles warping and twisting to identify his fingerprints being the one’s to cause her skin to burn.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” she cried, fighting him off. “Honestly, I wish you two every happiness.”

He cupped her cheek and drew her face towards him, worried eyes roaming over her panicked face. “Stay still and let me look at you.”

“Where is Diana?” Anne asked, searching around for the jet-black hair tied into a bouncy ponytail with a frosty blue ribbon.

“She’s getting you some water,” he explained and he drew Anne towards the toilets at the back of the bar, reaching out to push open the toilet door depicting a man on the grubby sign.

“I can’t go in there,” Anne howled, attempting to pull free.

“Anne, I need to get you cleaned up. You take your pick of which one we go to but either way one of us is going to be in the wrong toilet and I think it’ll look less perverted if it’s a girl in the boys.”

Anne gulped back and then took his hand again, stumbling through the doors to the male toilets.

“Hop up onto the counter. I’m going to get some tissue. And pinch your nose,” he ordered, disappearing into a cubicle. Anne pinched her nose and looked around her wide-eyed. _So, these were the boys’ toilets,_ she mused. _Huh, they weren’t too much different from the girls. Except the smell was worse. And there were urinals. And everything was tiled blue._

Gilbert reappeared, running the water and dampening the tissue.

“I always wondered what boys’ toilets looked like,” she confessed, wincing as he gently dabbed at her face, wiping the blood from her lips. His gaze remained on her mouth and she felt her chest constrict. It felt almost sensual, having his hands cupping her face, rubbing gently at her lips. _He’s only doing it because you’ve busted your nose, Anne. Don’t be an idiot,_ she reminded herself.

“You say the strangest things sometimes,” he chuckled, his voice low and raspy, the timbre as sweet as honey to her intoxicated ears.

“Well, you like me anyway.”

“That’s true.” He smiled gently at her, his eyes drawn to hers; warm and sweet. “I do.”

She leant forward, still pinching the flesh of her nose to stopper the blood and allowed her head to fall onto his shoulder.

“Your jumper is ridiculous,” she mumbled into his shoulder and he threw his head back, laughing heartily.

“What? I love it! Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, you have no taste.” He glanced down at his jumper; a bottle green atrocity with the Grinch on it, his to-do list printed beside him:

_4.00 Wallow in self pity_

_4.30 Stare into the abyss_

_5.00 Solve world hunger (tell no one)_

_5.30 JAZZERCISE_

_6.30 Dinner with me (can’t cancel that again)_

_7.00 Wrestle with my self-loathing_

_I’m booked!_

Gilbert felt his breath stutter, catching in his throat as she reached out and traced her finger lightly over the words printed on his sweater, his skin engulfed in searing flames where she touched. And then suddenly, as if she was struck with lightening (or the realisation that this was her best friend’s boyfriend) she sat straight, eyes looking around wildly as if trying to see if she was caught doing something she shouldn’t have done.

“Hey, hey – slow down. No quick movements,” Gilbert reassured. “Has the bleeding stopped?” Upon inspection, Gilbert noted the bleeding had stopped but he liked being this close to her, having her body against his. “It looks good. But lean forward again for another few minutes, just in case.”

And she did, resting her forehead against his shoulder once more; his body settled between her legs where she was perched on the cracked marble countertop. His hands hovered over her thighs before he falteringly let them rest there, his thumbs drawing little circles over her jeans.

“I tried to kiss Roy,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “That’s how this happened.”

His hands stopped their rhythmic tracing and he stared forward, barely recognising the wide-eyed, ghost-like face that stared back at him in the mirror behind her. He cleared his throat.

“It didn’t go well then?” he asked, not because he cared. More so to fill the silence and distract himself from the constricting feeling in his chest; how he felt choked by his own breath.

“What do you think, Blythe?” she quipped and she sat up straight to look at him, laughing gently and hiding her face in her hands as her cheeks coloured. “I’m so rubbish with boys. I always do the wrong thing. And Diana even gave me all these stupid tips that I couldn’t do right.”

He took hold of her wrists and slowly drew her hands from her face and back to her side. “Well, you don’t need to impress all boys; just the right one. And he should be impressed by you as you are. Just you… no _tips._ What sort of tips are they anyway?”

She groaned, rolling her head back and staring at the ceiling. “Things that boys like. You know, touching their arms and licking your lips and things. To let them know you’re interested.”

“Things like that don’t always work, Anne.”

“Well they must have for Diana, mustn’t they?” She looked at him pointedly and he considered what he had seen from Diana tonight. How Jerry Baynard and Fred Wright both hung from her every word, hovering close to her as she dazzled the crowd.

“I suppose you’re right,” he replied, smiling conspiratorially. “But sometimes boys don’t pick up on touches and glances. We’re primitive creatures really, sometimes we need you to be more direct. Have you told him you like him?”

She recoiled in horror. “No! I can’t do that!”

“Why not? You won’t know if you don’t try.”

“I don’t want to tell him. I _want_ to kiss him. I think it’d be so much more romantic.”

“Alright then but you need to be more obvious. He may not pick up on _touching his arm_ as you coming on to him.” He chuckled and shook his head gently, glancing at his hand that was still resting on her leg. His thumb had resumed tracing circles, he noticed. A completely unconscious decision.

“Well, what would you do? How do you be more obvious without outright saying “hey, how about you kiss me because I think we’d both like it”?” she asked him, pushing into his chest playfully and watching him sway onto his heels before settling between her legs again.

“I’m not going to teach you how to kiss him, Anne.” 

“Why not?” she whined. “Diana was helpful and did it because she is a _true friend_ and _kindred spirit_ to my soul. Maybe I was wrong about you?” She laughed softly at herself, it sounding more like a huff, but stopped suddenly when she noticed how serious he looked; how dark his eyes were. She had never seen him like this before; face sombre and _moody_. She felt a shiver trill down her spine.

“I would be more confident,” he murmured, his voice deep and rich and chocolatey. He took her chin between his fingers and tilted her head up towards him, before sliding his hand to her cheek and then deep into her braided hair, clenching a fistful of the tempting red strands.

“I would stare into her eyes just long enough to let her see how much I _want_ her,” he continued in his intoxicating voice. Anne felt as though he was staring into her soul; his pupils blown wide as his gaze locked with hers.

“And then, I would drop my gaze to her lips.” Anne watched his eyes travel down her face slowly, and settle on her full, pink mouth; lids hooded, eyes black with desire. She heard herself whimper as his lips parted slightly.

“And then… I would lean in.” And he did, slowly, slowly, until his lips were mere millimetres from hers.

“And kiss her.”

Anne wrestled with her desire to close the gap. His cider warmed breath was sizzling against her skin; rapid and uneven. His eyes flickered to hers again before descending upon her lips once more and he tilted his chin slightly, drawing in a ragged breath before…

Anne flustered, tugging his hand from her hair as she drew away. He extricated from her like he had been burnt, running his hands through his curls and retreating from her a few steps. Anne stared at him; his wild, dark eyes and flushed skin.

“I have to go!” he rushed. “I’ll find Diana.” And then she was watching his back as he shouldered through the heavy door, it swinging shut behind him.

Anne stared after him, a lump swelling in her throat, prickling uncomfortably. Hot, angry tears pooled in her eyes and trickled slowly down her face, forging a river that burned like magma through her makeup, dripping from her chin. She curled onto the counter-top, drawing her knees to her chest, her heart aching inside of her. Her heart resumed battle with her head; her desire to have him kiss her, to feel his lips against hers, losing against her loyalty to Diana and their friendship.

And then she remembered, a sharp jolt to her heart, that she had asked for it. He wasn’t planning on kissing her, he was doing what she asked – telling her how to be more direct with Roy. But Roy never made her feel like that – burn with an intense desire she didn’t realise she was capable of having; like her heart was going to explode from her chest when he was close. He never made her stomach flutter like it was home to a whole butterfly farm.

Just how tangled had all this become?

**********

“Cole?” Anne whispered into the dark. Both of them were snuggled under her paisley quilt, huddled close in her bed.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think it’s possible to force yourself to fall in love with someone?” she asked him, her eyes tracing the dark outline of his body in the foggy blackness of the room.

“Anne, do we need to talk about this now?” he groaned, rolling from his back to his side to face her.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Well, hypothetically speaking, what if there was a person who suited you exactly. Everything you ever wanted from a boyfriend and he’s really kind too, but sometimes it feels like something is missing. Like there might be another person who you click with better but you never thought of them _that_ way before… and now you might.”

Cole laughed darkly. “Do I presume I don’t know who we are hypothetically talking about?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I would say mystery man number one is gorgeous. And funny and kind and thoughtful. You could fall in love with that person easily, right? But if you feel a better connection with mystery man number two, maybe you should explore it. Because _I_ think he might feel the same.”

Anne drew back from Cole, shocked. “He can’t feel the same,” she whispered angrily. “He’s got a girlfriend, dummy. Remember? How much have you had to drink tonight?”

Cole scrunched his nose. He didn’t remember anyone telling him that Gilbert had a girlfriend and he really couldn’t see it either. Cole was fully aware Gilbert Blythe was head over heels in love with Anne. He and Diana discussed it all the time. But maybe he did have a girlfriend and Cole was just too drunk to pinpoint the memory of being told so. That blonde girl he worked with was _really_ pretty and Gilbert spent most of the night with her friends. He rolled back onto his back and yawned.

“Anne, if Roy is really what you want then of course you could love him. Love isn’t instant for everyone.”

Anne nodded at him and then whispered, “Goodnight, Cole. Sweet dreams, love you.”

“Night, Anne,” Cole replied. “Love you.” And as Anne fell into a deep but troubled sleep, Cole lay with his hands behind his head, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to Anne’s ceiling, all need to sleep evaporating from his body. He felt something heavy settle into his chest; something that felt like dread. He had been spending a little more time with Roy Gardner recently and, troublingly, he was really starting to enjoy it.

**********

Christmas day arrived quickly, the last week a flurry of hasty panic buying and last-minute preparations. But the morning had passed peacefully, a visit from Santa leaving Anne with many new and beautiful possessions, Marilla and Matthew sharing bright smiles at each squeal of glee and sincere thank you she gave them.

The three were curled up under a tartan blanket on a rug, Anne sandwiched between her parents. They had enjoyed a hearty Christmas lunch – complete with turkey and trimmings- the first without the Blythe-Lacroix family in a few years. Bash decided this year they would stay at home. Dellie was older and it was unfair to take her away from her shiny new toys.

“And we’re having a guest,” he admitted to Marilla, bashfully. “Muriel is joining us for Christmas day this year. Her parents live well out of town and she’s normally on her own. And she’s already met Dellie, so she’ll be happy to have her there.” Marilla had pulled him into a warm hug, tears pooling in her watery blue eyes, exclaiming that she was so happy to see him happy once more.

So now, it was just the Cuthberts, wrapped in their blanket with bowls of Christmas pudding drenched in custard and Marilla’s homemade plum preserve perched on their knees as _It’s a Wonderful Life_ played. They watched it every Christmas day, a Cuthbert tradition, and Anne could almost recite the whole film word-for-word.

 _“What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That’s a pretty good idea. I’ll give you the moon, Mary.”_ Anne murmured along with the words, Matthew wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close, Marilla resting her head against Anne’s shoulder, their hands clasped together. It was a different sort of Christmas, Anne mused. Normally, Gilbert would be here too, declaring dramatically how he would throw a lasso around the moon for Anne, in sync with George Bailey, as the two of them sprawled on the rug, her pushing him away with a squeal of laughter. Marilla and Bash would watch from the sofa, throwing secretive glances at each other, quirked eyebrows and knowing smiles.

After George Bailey had reunited with his family and Clarence received his wings, the television plunged into darkness, Marilla pushing the blanket from their knees and collecting dishes. When she returned, she had three glasses on a tray, alongside a box of after-dinner mints.

“We’ll open the presents from under the tree now, shall we?” she asked, passing Matthew his tipple and settling beside Anne again with a sherry for herself. Anne was allowed a drink too; “As a treat, just this _one_ time,” Marilla had emphasised, and passed Anne a glass of a creamy white liquid poured over large ice-cubes. When Anne tasted it, it was sweet and cool, burning the back of her throat and warming her tummy.

They opened gifts in a flurry; paper ripping and tearing as they worked steadily through the thoughtful presents they received from their loved ones. Anne was delighted with her gifts; she had gotten a new notebook from Cole – cloth bound with thick, heavy paper and a spine edged in gold. From Diana she received a framed print for her bedroom – ‘Anne with an E is so much more distinguished’ written in a curly, black script and surrounded by a garland of delicate painted flowers. It was a hark back to Anne’s first day at school, when Mr Phillips asked her name and Diana had decided that this girl with wild eyes and flame hair was to be her very best friend. Bash had knitted her a new cardigan; a pale cream with green thread looped around the button band and pretty pink flowers embroidered on to it. In another parcel he had wrapped up cosy pyjamas; blue bottoms and a top with ‘Dreaming of Mr Darcy’ printed on them. Anne traced the writing with her fingers, laughing gently. She just _knew_ Gilbert had picked them out. Diana’s Aunt Jo had gifted her a new copy of _Jane Eyre_ ; an inscription on the inside reading ‘ _Dearest Anne, A beautiful book for a beautiful girl. All my love, Your Aunt Jo.’_ Rachel Lynde had gifted her a pair of aubergine coloured, fine knit gloves with dainty buttons sewn onto the wrists. Anne smiled at the practicality of the gift. Rachel had admonished Anne two weeks previous because she was out without her gloves.

“You’ll catch your death,” she scolded. “And there won’t be anyone listening when you're crying blue murder over it. You’ll have brought it on yourself, that’s what!”

She now had two parcels left; two identical black boxes given to her by two boys she cared about deeply. She went to lift one, and then stilled. _Don’t people gift tag things anymore,_ she wondered crossly, looking for a defining feature that might identify one gift from the other. She lifted the one on the left, tearing the lid from the top of it. A cream coloured card fluttered from the box and landed at her feet. She lifted the card and studied it, reading the printed script.

‘ _To my dear friend, Anne. Merry Christmas.’_

She reread the words, her heart feeling heavy. ‘ _To my dear friend’_ – it must have been from Gilbert. She pushed aside the pale tissue paper and peeked at what was hidden underneath, a pretty silver bookmark, curved like a shepherd’s hook, a blue butterfly charm hanging from the end. It was a pretty little trinket, she thought to herself smiling, and she wrapped it gently into its paper again.

Confident with which gift came from which boy, she lifted the second box. It felt weightier than the first in her hand. As she drew the lid back, she gasped. A beautiful, antique fountain pen was within, nestled on a bed of cream velvet lining. Anne drew it from the box gently, her fingers stroking the smooth, cool, tortoiseshell shaft, golden accents glinting in the Christmas lights. It must have cost him a fortune. She looked back into the box for a gift card but instead noticed how the inside of the lid seemed to wink at her when the lights caught it. She lifted it, finding an engraving inside; looping letters in a pale gold font.

‘ _A pen of possibility. Let your imagination run as wild and as free as you are. With love.’_

She stared at the inscription and then back at the pen, a glow of warmth in the pit of her stomach that she allowed to fill her up. It was such a beautiful and thoughtful gift and she would treasure it forever. Perhaps Roy knew her better than she had given him credit for. She would treasure it; it would be her newest tool to relinquish what was in her heart onto her page; allowing their love story to flow from the nib in her elegant, flourishing hand.

**********

Exactly one week later, Green Gables was alive with lights and noise and music. The Cuthberts had invited all their dearest friends together to ring in the new year; the Barrys, along with Roy, the Lynde’s, Cole and dear Aunt Jo and the Blythe-Lacroix’s, accompanied by the charming Ms Stacy, all gathered in the sitting room, glasses of golden coloured liquid sparkling and fizzing in champagne flutes held in each hand, the tiny bubbles bursting against Anne’s lips as she sipped it. It tasted like magic.

They watched in anticipation as the hand neared 12 o’ clock, ticking slowly to mark the impending new year.

“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

They cheered, friends hugging; couples sharing kisses promising another year of joy and love.

“Happy new year, Anne,” Roy shouted over the din, his mouth close to her ear. Anne felt emboldened by the joy of the new year and the knowledge that he understood her better than she had thought that day in the pub, just before Christmas. She turned to Roy, taking his chin in her hand, just as Gilbert had done with her, and guided his mouth to meet hers, her lips crashing against his in a hasty peck. He stared at her afterwards, his handsome face furrowed at the brow.

Did he feel like she did too? Anne swallowed back… No butterflies. No tingling skin or blazing inferno. But who had a great first kiss anyway? Wasn’t that what second kisses were for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So don't say I didn't warn you. It was L.O.N.G.  
> But hopefully you stuck it out and are here. I added in some more misunderstandings for the craic so I'm ready for a rollicking in the comments ;)
> 
> Ok, Irish culture school is in session for anyone interested (if not, move along). We Irish love Christmas. Wholeheartedly. And a '12 pubs of Christmas' (vulgarly taken from the carol '12 days of Christmas') is a festive pub crawl some people partake in. You round up your friends and dress up in jumpers (Anne and Gilbert's both being fictional versions of jumpers I actually own) and you aim to go to 12 pubs, having a drink (or 2 or 3) in each and carrying out silly little challenges if you want to. Much like the Avonlea gang, you may not get to all 12 (I have not, ever) but this is mainly due to being a little too inebriated to move on. But it is really good fun. I'm not exactly sure if this is something that happens in other countries, but it does here. 
> 
> Also, I have a confession. I am in the middle of a Shirbert break down which has lasted 2 whole days and doesn't appear to be letting up anytime soon. I sometimes feel emotional at songs that vaguely remind me of them (I'm looking at you 'Woman' by Mumford and Sons and 'Hideaway' by Hudson Taylor) and rewatch videos constantly. I watched a gif of Gilbert glancing at Anne in Ms Stacy's house for a solid 10 minutes. Please send help! I am a whole 25 years old obsessing over a couple of love-sick kids.
> 
> As always, thank you for your lovely comments and kudos. I love getting them. It's so lovely to hear how emotionally invested people are and how much some of you want to knock Anne and Gilbert's heads together. (And mine too, probably. I do love to drag things out). You're the best!
> 
> Wishing you all peace in our worrisome little world and I'll talk to you next time x


	8. “It was…not love at first sight exactly, but – familiarity. Like: oh, hello, it’s you. It’s going to be you. Game over.” You Had Me At Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert misreads a situation, leading to an unexpected revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hi there!  
> I'm back a little earlier than expected with a treat for you all but you will have to read on to receive it!  
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter (so much so that it is even longer than the last one) and I hope you all enjoy reading it.
> 
> Also, I have just surpassed the word count of my under-graduate thesis! It felt like a chore to write it but this has been unbelievably fun, so thank you to you all who continue reading (and to my new readers from Tumblr, hi! If anyone else wants to find me there, I'm @beckybubbles)
> 
> Alright, buckle up, folks! It's going to be a bumpy ride! x

Anne’s second kiss with Roy was equally as…nice. Nice. That was all Anne could call it. It didn’t leave her burning with need or cause her lips to tingle. Her skin didn’t blaze a bright inferno where his hands touched. But when he kissed her, it was nice. He was sweet and his lips were delicate.

It had happened at Tillie’s ‘So-Long Santa’ party. Tillie Boulter _loved_ Christmas and battled with her parents every year stubbornly that they were not to dismantle a decoration until she said so. The date of the party changed each year, her parents winning the war this year on January 21st, exclaiming that it was embarrassing to still have the house blinking with Christmas lights a whole month after Christmas. Tillie relented, scheduling her annual ‘So-Long Santa’ get together for that weekend, marking the end of the Christmas festivities in the Boulter house and the beginning of Tillie’s mourning period that lasted until Christmas adverts appeared prematurely on television again in September. After that, it was acceptable to listen to _Fairy-tale of New York_ on repeat. When she first hosted it, the Avonlea gang being a lot younger, they would have sat around playing board games and sharing soft drinks and snacks in Tillie’s parents old-fashioned living room, all squashed on the chintzy green sofa. But as they aged, someone would start sneaking in a bottle of something a _little_ bit stronger to lace their Coca-Cola’s and the party gradually escalated into a long-anticipated messy night of dancing and drinks; Mr and Mrs Boulter hiding in the upstairs bedroom and roaring through windows when the party spilled onto the snow covered garden to keep the doors closed because the heat would escape and to “Keep the noise down, for goodness, sake! We still want to be friends with our neighbours when this is all over!”

Anne had dressed in her favourite party dress; a short, round-necked dress, made of the most luxurious velvet green, with short puffed sleeves, and she let Cole style her hair. He fashioned it into large bouncy curls, a mermaid braid wrapping around the crown like a headband. He and Diana both stood back from her, Diana clapping her hands with glee and Cole emitting a low whistle.

“You’re a knockout.” He gushed, turning her towards the mirror and when her eyes met her reflection, she was surprised to admit she was. She looked pretty. She smoothed her hands over the soft, velvet and twirled in front of the mirror thinking _‘If this doesn’t get Roy Gardner’s pulse racing, what will?’_

And although his pulse didn’t _race_ , necessarily, it did canter, which must have meant something. He was in the kitchen debating politics with Gilbert and Charlie, the civilised conversation petering out when all three boys glimpsed Anne at the door, her green dress skimming her curves, emphasising her neat waist and the swell of her breasts, the creamy skin of her neck and her flame red hair contrasting brilliantly with the deep, green velvet.

Gilbert felt his heart lurch in his chest. She was exquisite. The singular most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. He felt himself gasp in a deep breath; the air knocked from his lungs momentarily. But as she approached them, her eyes were on Roy. He looked desperately between them; Anne’s gaze was fixed, almost as though she didn’t want to notice anyone else and when he spotted the look on Charlie’s face – slack-jawed and gormless - he felt he knew why. They must have looked completely lecherous, the two of them standing there staring at her when she only had eyes for Roy anyway. Gilbert felt his jaw tense as she touched Roy lightly on the arm.

“Hello!” she chirped brightly.

“Hello. Well, don’t you look like a sight for sore eyes,” Roy crooned, his smile wolfish. Gilbert felt his eyes narrow and a dangerous tremble pulse through his body. He was jealous; his blood vessels flooded with it. It was a poisonous feeling that he hadn’t been able to rid himself of since New Year’s Eve, when he watched Anne confidently use his damned advice ( reluctantly given with the hope that if he got close enough to her, she would realise her feelings and allow him to kiss her. And for a hairline of a second, he thought that she would), turning Roy’s face towards hers and connecting their lips. Gilbert knew his heart was already cracked, but their quick embrace caused it to shatter; millions of shards scattered on the Cuthbert’s living room floor. Fitting, he thought, that his heart would scatter there. That’s where it belonged anyway; perpetually attached to the red-haired beauty in the upstairs gable room.

He had felt numbed since then; stupid and foolish and worthless. He had thought, really believed in the depths of his heart, that something had shifted in her. That she was looking at him _differently_ than before; something in her eyes that twinkled vivaciously when she looked at him; the ragged gasp of breath and whimper that made his stomach somersault when he tangled his hands in her hair and guided her to his mouth. But he had been wrong. He was always wrong.

He was sickened, a few days after Christmas, when Marilla had come by to catch up with Bash on the Blythe-Lacroix’s Christmas festivities. He had enjoyed Christmas day; Muriel (he cringed at calling her that but she _insisted_ Ms Stacy was not her name when she was outside of school) had been fun and he enjoyed seeing Bash so happy again, but something was missing; Anne. Anne and _It’s a Wonderful Life._ She had phoned him that night to thank him for her gift and he was shocked at how polite she was. He wasn’t expecting fireworks and a love declaration but maybe a fervent speech of how she was so happy he believed in her so much. And he did, wholeheartedly; he purchased that pen (a little more expensive than he could have afforded on his measly internship wage but she was worth it) with visions of her using it to pen a masterpiece; to furiously scribble out that passionate kiss she found so difficult to write.

Instead, he overheard Marilla speak about meeting Roy to Bash in the kitchen, gushing about how Anne had wandered around in a dream-like trance all of St Stephen’s day over the gift he had bought her. Gilbert swallowed back; of course, he was outdone again. He hated thinking of this as a competition. Anne was a human, not a prize, but his self-esteem had taken one too many knocks for him not to constantly compare himself to Roy; his height, their cleverness, how he was someone Anne wanted to kiss.

“He seems a polite enough boy, but if we are to believe Rachel, he is a bit of a rogue,” Marilla worried in the kitchen after detailing to Bash how she had met him briefly when he called to the house to collect Anne for a winter’s walk, Bash humming thoughtfully. “Expelled from his last school over some hijinks with a firework. He’s not who I pictured her with at all.”

“Or me,” Bash conceded with a gentle laugh.

Gilbert felt bile rise from his stomach and burn his throat, exposing his hiding place on the stairs outside the kitchen when he thundered back up them again to retch over the toilet. He had thought, no he had _hoped,_ that he hadn’t read into what they had shared in that dingy restroom in the shabby pub they partied in before Christmas. He hadn’t imagined the look on her face as he moved closer to her, the closest he had ever been. He was nervous she would be able to hear how his heart thundered, as rapid as the beat of a snare drum, when he felt the warmth of her breath against his lips. And then she pulled away, like she always did whenever he got close. There was a magnetism to her; she would always be the forcefield that he anchored to. She was his gravity. But she was connected to someone else, polarised to another field that wasn’t in his orbit.

And so, when she led Roy away from the kitchen, ducking her face so her eyes didn’t have to meet his, he felt a sharp stab in his chest. His heart was already shattered but someone had just thumped their heel into the remnants and twisted violently to crush the shards to nothing but dust. He watched as they settled in a corner, the antics of his friends going unnoticed. All he could see was Anne. Radiant, magnificent Anne. And when she lunged forward unexpectedly, Roy’s eyes wide with surprise of the feeling of her lips meeting his for a second time, Gilbert watched in despair, swallowing thickly at the lump that rose in his throat. She didn’t _want_ him. It was time to go. So, he collected his coat, thanked the Boulter’s in the upstairs bedroom for their hospitality and left.

And when he reached the privacy of his room he let the tears come, hot and shuddering; a broken boy sobbing silently into the darkness of his room.

**********

Anne felt her stomach bubble with nerves as she had marched through the kitchen, her eyes glued to Roy determinedly. She was fearful they would stray to Gilbert, aware that he was staring at her; his jaw tense, that delectable muscle there twinging sharply, but his eyes were tender; glowing brightly with a soft warmth, like a lit candle in a church window, a beacon in the dark. She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she knew she would be drawn into his gaze and would let it envelope her. And that was dangerous. She couldn’t have him, even if his presence made her skin tingle and her heart race. She didn’t know when this had started. Had it always been there? She wasn’t sure. But it was a little crush. People had crushes before and got over them. She had crushes all the time (mainly fictional, of course, but that was neither here nor there) and she survived them just fine. So, she fought the feeling off and she let her hand take Roy’s and led him away, his skin cool against her palm, and they pressed against each other on the sofa in the corner. And when he smiled at her and asked her where the others were and if they should find them, she sprung forward, her hand to his cheek, and meet his lips with hers. And it was _nice_ , like the first one. His lips were soft and tasted of toothpaste mingled with cigarettes, much like that first time. When they broke apart, he stared at her wide eyed and asked, “Why did you do that?”

And she answered, “Is it not obvious?” before kissing him again. But there was never butterflies or scorching skin. Just a dark-haired boy with sad eyes and sweet lips who kissed her. Anne wasn’t sure what she was doing wrong. Or maybe she wasn’t doing anything wrong. Maybe the writers and the poets were liars; making people chase a perfect love that didn’t exist. She had kissed enough people to know that her spine never tingled and her toes never curled. She never raced for breath or had her knees go weak (a ridiculous notion really, but it seemed romantic when it happened in her books). She always just shared a kiss and moved along, waiting for the one that felt different. She didn’t even need to kiss him to know who _would_ feel different. But she couldn’t kiss him. They were star-crossed; doomed to fail. Two ships who would blare horns noisily in the gloom of the night but drift past the other, heading for opposite ports.

*********

Two weeks had passed since Anne had kissed Roy a second time and it seemed a third kiss wasn’t quite on her horizon yet. She was willing to wait. Great loves took time sometimes. Some people just needed a little longer to realise their feelings and she would wait as long as he needed. And, if she was completely honest with herself, she thought she still had to develop deeper feelings for him too. But it would happen; she would make it happen. All in good time.

She sat with Diana in the school library, both of the girls feigning working hard at their homework while whispering behind their hands, away from the sharp eyes of the pinched face librarian who screeched when any student violated the quiet sanctuary of the library. Diana was annotating notes onto her copy of _King Lear_ half-heartedly, sharing the details of her latest tryst with Gilbert.

“You-know-who was over last night,” she began and Anne felt the sensation of a weight sinking to her stomach. It was a horrible feeling, occurring more and more often at Diana’s stories; Anne fading out, losing herself in her thoughts to save herself from the harsh ache of hearing how he and Diana spent their time. The feeling troubled her. She wished she could fall in love with Roy so she didn’t have to experience deep resentment towards her dearest friend, but the stumbled pace of their relationship allowed these new feelings to root deep in her core and affect her thoughts. She felt almost _jealous_ at how easily Gilbert bantered with her classmates, her eyes narrowing spitefully at the looks Christine Stuart gave him. Or how Winnie still giggled in his presence when she met them together buying take-out coffees for Dr Ward’s sniping receptionist. It upset Anne greatly. She wasn’t a jealous person; she hated how toxic it felt, like arsenic in her veins. So, she plastered on a bright smile and flirted stupidly with Roy. Sometimes, he flirted back, other times he smiled a sad, crooked smile, like he was settling too. Not that Anne was _settling,_ of course. She could be happy with Roy and she certainly wasn’t using him to numb the ache at the thought of Gilbert loving Diana in a way that she wished she could experience.

“It was an amazing little _session_ , but, Anne, he told me he loved me,” Diana continued in her hushed, hurried voice, firing a glance over her shoulder at the librarian who peered over her half-moon spectacles at them, her finger pressed to her pursed lips.

Anne choked out a cough, staring at Diana’s beautiful, yet troubled face. Shouldn’t she be elated? Imagine being the girl who stole Gilbert Blythe’s heart? Anne would never know how that felt and her heart twisted painfully at this thought. She flinched.

Diana nodded frenziedly at Anne’s wince. “I know! We had set _rules_ , Anne,” she ranted. “We said at the beginning, it was only going to be fun. That we weren’t going to rush anything; I don’t know what to do!”

“What did you say back?” Anne asked, her normally spirited voice sounding dull and flat. Diana fidgeted nervously.

“I didn’t say anything. I think I laughed?” She paused, chewing at the end of her pencil. “But honestly I can’t be sure.”

Anne gulped back, staring at Diana. She looked so anxious but Anne felt anger simmer in her stomach. “He told you he loved you, Diana and you _laughed_ at him?” she admonished, her voice raising slightly, eliciting a sharp, “Hush now” from the librarian. Anne mouthed a ‘sorry’ to her before returning her attention to Diana, dropping her voice to a sharp whisper. “Could you not tell he was catching feelings and stop it before it got so out of hand?”

“I mean, it might have been an accident,” Diana justified.

“How can it have been an _accident_?” Anne whispered hoarsely. She felt bile rise in her throat.

“Well, he had just, you know, _finished_ , and he sort of just grunted it out. He said he didn’t really mean it.”

“He told you he loved you when he finished?” Anne asked confused. “I-I don’t understand.”

Diana huffed out a laugh. “Honestly, Anne. Sometimes I think you live must live under a rock. He _finished;_ you know?” Diana’s eyes widened purposefully and she flushed a bright shade of red. “He might have just said it in the heat of the moment.”

“Diana!” Anne paled; the understanding of what Diana was insinuating dawning on her like the sun illuminating the meadow that stretched outside the perimeter of Green Gables in the morning. She felt dizzy. They had done it; they had gone all the way. And he told her he loved her; the words tumbling from his lips in a moment of ecstasy; when he was lost in the most carnal pleasure a human can experience. And when he was experiencing it, he told Diana he loved her. She swallowed a lump in her throat, her eyes prickling uncomfortably. Well, this was the proof she needed. She was right to trust the ideal she clung to in the form of her book boyfriends; she was right to trust Roy. This silly little crush on Gilbert was just that. A silly little crush. Something girls experienced; but now Diana was a woman, worthy of Gilbert’s love.

“Anne aren’t you going to say something,” Diana urged.

“I don’t really know what to say,” Anne mumbled weakly, lifting her pen and returning to her math problem. She scribbled out the formula again, Diana’s words melting like background noise. Her mind was riotous; her brain swirling with images of Gilbert’s teasing smile, the little wrinkle that appeared on his nose when he laughed. She thought of the mole that dotted his jawline and the freckles that smattered his nose. They looked good on him, not horrible speckles like hers. She imagined what it would be like to hear him say those words; _“I love you”._ How his mouth would twist as he formed them, his voice low and rasping.

“And I just never expected it, you know. I told him that wasn’t fair. It was against our rules,” she heard Diana ramble, the sharp ‘shush’ from the librarian finally silencing her. Anne concentrated on her work, not warranting a contribution to Diana’s conversation after that. She worked furiously on her maths, struggling without steady guidance from Gilbert but happy at the distraction from the ache in her heart.

At the ring of the bell that signified lunch, Anne and Diana packed up their books and spilled into the corridor traffic. They met a bustling Ruby, Tillie and _very_ reluctant Jane decorating a large notice board with candy-pink, heart shaped post-its.

“What’s going on, girls?” Diana asked, eyeing the scribbled notes on the post-its.

“Little Miss Genius over here thinks she has a fool-proof way of getting Gilbert to confess his feelings for her,” Jane quipped sardonically, thrusting her thumb towards Ruby.

“A love board,” Ruby gushed. “Just in time for Valentine’s day.” Anne and Diana shared a pointed look. It seemed a lot of effort to go to in order to force someone else’s lover to confess they liked you.

“And, what is its purpose?” Anne ventured.

Ruby tutted and rolled her eyes, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “You write little messages to someone you like. A little ‘take notice’, if you will. And then you post it to the board for that person to see, just this week, in the spirit of Valentine’s day.”

“Like a public love note?” Anne clarified.

“Exactly,” Ruby beamed. “And all he has to do is post.”

Diana smirked at Anne, a knowing smile that read to Anne, “like that is ever going to happen.” But as quick as it appeared, her smirk dissolved again and she smiled sweetly at Ruby and asked, “Is Mr Phillips alright with the board being used like this?”

“Oh, I got explicit permission from him. He agreed because it’s only for the week,” Ruby beamed. Anne smiled tightly, eyeing Ruby’s clingy, pink knitted dress that hugged at her hips and her pretty pout, shiny with tinted gloss. She imagined it wasn’t the fact that it was a romantic sentiment for Valentine’s day that made Mr Phillips relent; more likely because the request came from a pretty girl coupled with his wandering eyes. Everyone knew Mr Phillips was creepy; Jane told the girls stories about how he used to pay special attention to Prissy all the time. Anne swallowed these thoughts down; Ruby was beautiful and very mature looking this year, but she was still completely innocent at heart. Ruby tacked a note to the board, continuing excitedly, “And by my birthday party on Saturday, who knows, I might just have a new beau.”

Anne and Diana left the girls to their decorating. They already had fifteen notes, the majority of them for Tillie from the two Pauls, their declarations becoming more and more exaggerated in each note they penned. They giggled as they scorned the silly messages written to Tillie, Anne paying particular attention to one that compared his affections for Tillie as ‘loving her almost as much as he loved his mum.’

“Because every woman wants to become a substitute mother. Please, let us clean your dirty underwear and fuss over you. It thrills us,” Anne grumbled sarcastically.

“Honestly, I’m not sure what Tillie sees in them two,” Diana groaned, tucking her arm into the crook of Anne’s elbow. “What do you think about Ruby? She’ll be devastated if Gilbert doesn’t post.”

“She will,” Anne agreed, nodding slowly. She felt it was cruel to Ruby that Gilbert hadn’t told her he wasn’t interested yet. She was so obvious with her feelings, mooning over him constantly. And he knew she liked him too. It would be better just to put her out of her misery and let her down gently.

“Maybe you could ask him to post a note to her?” Diana suggested.

“ME?” Anne cried. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Wouldn’t it look a little odd coming from me?” Diana reasoned. Anne nodded dumbly. She supposed it would. He had just told Diana he loved her and her asking him to post a love note to another girl might appear as a breakup, especially as Diana took it less than graciously.

“Yes, I suppose it would,” she mused. “What will I say?”

“Just inform him of how her birthday is on Valentine’s day - this weekend - and you think it would make her really happy to receive a note from him. She’s an innocent thing really; a note would satisfy her. Just a little something for her to hold onto. She wouldn’t need anything else.”

Anne smiled tightly and gave a short nod to confirm that she would do it before dropping into her seat beside Cole and Roy in the canteen. She smiled sweetly at Roy, but she felt leaden; burdened with worry about Diana and Gilbert, Ruby and the love note, and the fact that her own traitorous body refused to react how she imagined it should to Roy and had irrepressibly latched itself on to Gilbert Blythe. Roy quirked a brow at her.

“So,” Cole began. “I was very brave and have just asked Tom to go to Ruby’s party with me at the weekend.”

Anne and Diana’s eyes grew wide, Anne leaning into his side and squeezing him.

“And?” Diana prompted.

“He said yes.”

The girls both squeaked out excited squeals, Diana throwing her arms around Cole’s neck.

“I told you he would say yes,” she cried, kissing him sloppily on the cheek. “You’re gorgeous! How could he not?”

“Who is Tom?” Roy asked, his mouth set into a tight line. Anne puzzled at his expression. He looked like he had been slapped and was steeling himself to retaliate.

“From the year below, silly,” she laughed. “Cole has had a crush on him forever.”

Cole shot Roy a half-smile and shrugged, Roy nodding tightly. “Well, Anne, I was actually thinking we could go to Ruby’s together, too?” he shot and Anne froze. She wasn’t really expecting to go _with_ someone. That made it a date and she would have preferred not being there exclusively _with_ a date. That would mean she wouldn’t be free to dance and party with everyone else; Diana and Ruby and Gilbert. Her face flushed when she thought of Gilbert and she felt guilty. He would be there with Diana anyway; she needed to stop forcing feelings on him. She nodded grimly at Roy, his tight expression reflecting what she imagined her own must have looked like. She wondered what had him acting like this. His face was normally sullen, but today he looked thunderous.

“Yes,” she answered plainly. “I’ll go with you.”

“Good,” he replied shortly and his mouth quirked slightly at the edge, twisting into what vaguely registered as a smile.

“Look at us all coupled up for the weekend!” Diana grinned. “We’re like a group of grown-ups at a dinner party.”

But she was the only one who seemed enthusiastic at the arrangements for the weekend. Cupid had shot his arrow and unfortunately missed. The others’ hearts were being held at ransom, only able to be emancipated by someone who held the heart of another.

**********

Anne was unusually quiet during her walk home, her head swirling with thoughts of how her nerves stood on edge at being so close to Gilbert; how she had never noticed this before and how treasonous she was being to her friendship with Diana. She shifted further from Gilbert and kept her head ducked. He eyed her suspiciously from under his lashes.

“I was wondering,” he ventured, attempting to break the silence for the fourth time. The first three attempts had been painfully shot down by Anne. He even attempted to provoke her into an argument so she would speak to him but she backed down on her point straight away. That was when he realised there was something _dreadfully_ wrong. Anne never shied from an argument, especially when it was one he would let her win. “When am I going to get my next book?”

His most recent book had been another modern story; _Red, White and Royal Blue_ having been exchanged for _You Had Me at Hello_. He had devoured it; Rachel and Ben’s relationship reminding him so much of his and Anne’s; an easy friendship that had developed into something more for one of them. How Ben’s love had been instantaneous, much like Gilbert’s. They say you are struck by Cupid’s arrow and Gilbert was struck alright; not by an arrow but by a book, but the effects were the same. A powerful, all-consuming love that was the motivation for almost everything he did; her happiness was always his priority. And much like his current book, he was losing his love and he couldn’t see a happy end. The thought sent a sharp, ripping pain through his chest. He was trying his hardest to act normal but after seeing what he saw at Tillie’s party and knowing he had lost her to her real-life book boyfriend, he felt he had to restrain himself more often. He had to paste on more smiles and laugh louder when in her company. It was the only way to mask the pain he constantly felt; that tore at his heart and numbed his senses.

“You finished it?” she asked and she knocked her shoulder into his arm lightly. “Well, that was quick.”

“It was a great book. I am going to be completely chick-lit literate when this is all over.”

She groaned loudly. “Ugh! Don’t use that term. I hate it,” she laughed. He grinned at her, a bright, beaming smile that she reciprocated. He should have known his carless use of a sexist term would be enough to get her talking again.

“Well, what do you propose I use instead?” he teased.

“I mean, you don’t stomp around calling, I don’t know, ‘The History of the Spitfire Plane’, man-lit, do you? It’s so sexist and completely diminishes a talented author’s story down to a fluffy pile of _nonsense_.”

“I see,” Gilbert replied and he smirked at her haughty, upturned nose and how her passion enflamed her cheeks, painting them a rosy red hue. “I’m sorry I offended you.”

“As you should be,” Anne retorted and she laughed as he stuck his tongue out at her playfully.

“So, speaking of authors,” Anne began, swallowing nervously as she remembered her promise to Diana to speak to him about posting a note to Ruby. “I have a favour to ask you.”

“Oof, sounds ominous,” he groaned at her, registering the sudden change in her demeanour and how she seemed rigid again.

“I don’t know if you are aware but there is a new love board set up in school?”

“A love board?” he questioned and he felt his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline in surprise.

“Yes, where you can post a love note to another student. You know, a little flirtation or quiet attention to let someone know you are thinking about them.”

“Like a love note?” Anne glanced at him from under her lashes, a hasty peek, and was alarmed to see his eyes studying her, roaming over her with an expression that made her skin prickle and her heart soar.

“Yes,” she breathed, focussing on her feet again; the pattern of one disappearing from her eyeline as the other appeared, the steady rhythm as they marched one in front of the other.

“And you’re suggesting I – post?” He swallowed back as his heart lurched. Was this it? Had she realised she had feelings for him and wanted him to declare his publicly? He always imagined how he would tell Anne about his feelings; murmured soft and low, tucked up in her room or his; somewhere private where they were comfortable. How he would tangle their fingers together and whisper it to her soft and low; “Anne, I love you.” And she might be shocked and a little blindsided but would grin at him, that brilliant one when she flashes her teeth and her eyes twinkle like sapphires. But if she wanted a public declaration, he would do that. He would stand on his desk in front of the class and shout it out if she wanted him too. Stand on a stage and sing it to her if that was what she needed to hear. He gazed at her, pondering on her worried expression, concentrating on her shoes. She was nervous. Was she nervous he would reject her? He steeled himself; it was time.

“Anne, I…”

“I spoke to Diana and she felt that, as it is Ruby’s birthday this weekend, Ruby would appreciate a love note from you. You know, a silly little thing that she could keep,” Anne garbled, not noticing Gilbert had begun to speak. Gilbert’s shoulders fell, his heart dropping to his feet.

“Ruby?” he asked flatly.

“Yes.” Anne blinked, taking in his face; one moment ago, so full of hope and joy, now cheerless and grey.

“But I don’t have feelings for her.”

“Yes, I know. But that’s alright. Diana and I feel that it would maybe be a nice thing to do for her. She wouldn’t care that you didn’t want to date her after. She would treasure it whether you meant it or not.”

“Okay. Let me get this right. You and Diana get to decide what I do and don’t do now?” he snapped, his voice strangled with restrained hurt and annoyance.

“Gil, I didn’t mean to..” Anne began but Gilbert cut her off.

“Look, it’s fine. I know you were thinking about Ruby but any chance you can think about me for a change? I don’t have feelings for her, Anne. I’m not doing it.”

“But, Diana-“

“I don’t really care what Diana had to say on the matter.” He stopped at Green Gables gate, turning on his heel and squaring his shoulders as she stared at him, taken aback by his annoyance. She supposed he felt that Diana was trying to rebuke him after his declaration. She cringed at the thought of them together; how he probably had held her against him, tight against the smooth, tanned skin of his chest; their mutual ecstasy punctuated by his declaration. It made her feel queasy.

“I’m sorry. Look, I know you love someone else,” she admitted and she smiled at him earnestly as his taught features softened before her; the furrow at his brow smoothing as his eyebrows curved gently, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips. “You know, that old mystery _crush_ ,” she rambled, laughing forcefully to distract herself from the feeling that this look was for her. That he was thinking of her when his face relaxed and his eyes honeyed.

He stared at her, swallowing thickly as those three pesky words he had felt for so long lurched forward, desperate to tumble free. He opened his mouth, ready to let them be formed when Anne stepped away from him, towards the gate.

“Forget I said anything about it,” she mumbled. And she glanced at him, his face dejected again. It made her heart ache. “This weekend will be amazing for her anyway.” And because she felt she needed to comfort him, she reached out and took his hand in hers.

“And you have a _date_ for it right?” she continued, forcing her voice to trill out like a song, squeezing his hand and feeling her skin goosepimple at how his fingertips brushed against her palm. She let go abruptly and he sighed heavily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He stared at her, lost in how her flame red hair swished to and fro as she skipped the path to her home, the words he so desperately wanted to say dying in his throat but his head filled with a million questions. Why would he have a date this weekend? Why did she hold his hand and look at him like she _knew_? Like she knew it was her he had talked about all those months ago when they were crowded around a campfire at the pier. That when he told his friends about the crush he had and prayed that they hadn’t noticed him flash her a look under his lashes, maybe she had. He swallowed back, the hand she had held nervously playing with the short curls at the back of his head.

Who was she referring to when she spoke about a date? Because he hadn’t been asked on one by anybody. Unless she was referring to them; her and him. Unless, by some magical occurrence she had come to a realisation that Roy wasn’t the one for her after all; that when she kissed him it felt ordinary and plain and devoid of passion and romance. Maybe she had felt it after all; she had heard his heart hammer and felt her skin tingle back at Christmas; back when he had almost claimed her mouth with his. The day that he almost let all the walls he had built tumble down so he could show her how he felt; poured all of his emotion into her with one magical, life-changing kiss. Who else could it be but her? He grappled to control the elation that threatened to burst from his chest, bouncing awkwardly on his toes as the feeling surged through him, making every fibre of his being sing. He stared after her, a dopey, love-sick grin on his face, waiting until she rounded the side of the house and lifting his hand to wave when she glanced back at him, his heart beating rapidly at what he imagined was a kittenish look to her eyes.

**********

Anne rounded the house, a little breathless at her conversation with Gilbert. Her mind was reeling with what was said. His quick defensiveness when Anne had suggested his post to Ruby. His anger at Diana at suggesting that he post at all. His anger at her too; she wasn’t guiltless. But what left her the most confused was how he _looked_ at her. How his eyes widened and his expression sang of hope when she suggested he post, only to fall again, dejected and lost, when she proposed he addressed it to Ruby. That horrible flash of feeling that coursed through her that it was her he loved; it was her that made his eyes glow and his mouth to twist into that gentle smile that quirked to one side. She felt her heart crack but braced herself. She wanted what she couldn’t have and had a sinking feeling that he might too. Why was she like this? She always liked boys that were unavailable; Mr Darcy, Mr Rochester, Heathcliff, they were all committed to the page. They would never be real, to feel and to love. Gilbert was though; he was living and breathing, with a gentle sense of humour and terrible dance moves. But he would never be available to her; she cherished her friendship with Diana too much. She cherished her friendship with _him_ too much.

It was time to put him aside. She was going on a date with Roy at the weekend; handsome, perfect Roy, who had punched a bully to defend her good name and supported her dream of being an author by gifting her such a beautiful tool to commit every flash of imagination she had to paper with. He was the boy she dreamed about since she was twelve years old and opened _Jane Eyre_ for the very first time. He was the one she would love, even if the thought of it made her heart stutter uncomfortably now. He would be easy to love; even Cole had said so.

As she passed the large doors to the garage, propped open with some spare tyres to let fresh air circulate, Anne peeked her head in to say hello to Matthew. Instead she found Jerry ducked under the propped-up hood of a car, fiddling with a particularly stubborn fan belt.

“Hi, Jerry,” she chirped, before turning to retreat from the gloom of the large shed and the cloying smell of engine oil.

“Hey, Anne!” he called, jogging to catch up with her. “Can I talk to you a minute?” Jerry had worked with Matthew for as long as Anne could remember. Initially, he ran little errands and organised tools but Matthew had trained him, teaching him patiently, his instructions clear and concise allowing the boy’s skills in the mechanic trade to flourish under his watchful eye. He had been in Anne’s life for so long that he became akin to a surrogate brother; both maddeningly teasing but fiercely protective of the other, there to offer a sympathetic smile and listening ear when it was needed. And today, he needed it.

“Sure, Jerry.” Her face warped with concern at his troubled expression; anxious and pained. She stepped back into the murky shed, hopping up onto Matthew’s work bench. Jerry leant against the hood of the car he was working on, sighing heavily and running a work-grimy hand over his face.

“Why are girls so confusing?” he mumbled sheepishly, his shoulders slouched and a tightness to his lips that set them into a grim line.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she answered lightly, attempting to dispel the tension she could see set in his posture. When he didn’t react, she pressed on. “What’s going on?”

“I-I’m seeing this girl,” he began, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “We’ve been seeing each other since the summer and we have a lot of fun together. But, she doesn’t want to be exclusive.”

“Oh.” Anne was awash with sympathy as she watched him; his hands fidgeting, his eyes unable to look at her. There was a wobble to his voice when he spoke. He really loved her, whoever she was. How could she not love him back? He was so sweet and kind, with a cheeky sense of humour. He was selfless, despite how annoying Anne found him at times. “That seems a long time to be invested in a relationship that isn’t going anywhere.”

“Right! I have no clue what she wants. She treats me like we’re in a business contract. And she is always hiding me away. I’ve never met her parents and she hasn’t told her friends; I don’t think…” He eyed Anne guardedly, awaiting a ping of recognition, but none came. No light bulb illuminating the situation in her mind. He sighed; he was still a secret. Diana’s dirty little secret that she kept hidden in her bedroom. He should have known. “She makes me feel like I’m not worthy of her…Maybe I’m not.”

“Jerry,” Anne whispered softly. He ducked his head and studied his hands, inspecting where the engine oil gathered around his nail beds and streaked on his palm. He caught his lip between his teeth, swallowing back the emotion that threatened to make his voice tremor. “I’m so sorry. Quite frankly, she doesn’t sound like a very nice person.”

“She is though, Anne. I really love being with her. I _love_ her and I told her so and she laughed! I have never felt so hurt before. I never thought her cruel.”

Anne jumped from the bench and in three long strides was across the garage to where Jerry stood, enveloping him in her arms in a warm embrace. “Jerry, I have never heard you humble yourself before. She’s not worthy of you if that is how she makes you feel. You deserve all the love in the world, Jerry. She’s not the one for you.”

Jerry sniffed deeply; his head tucked into Anne’s neck. He swallowed back. He had younger sisters and he was ferociously defensive of them, but he loved Anne like a sister too. They squabbled relentlessly, him thinking her a know-it-all, her thinking him a pain in the backside, but they stuck together. She was the sisterly embrace that made his heart feel like it could heal. She was the sibling who listened to his problems, offered well-meaning advice and only brought it up again when he did. He couldn’t talk to his brothers about this sort of thing. They would tease unremittingly and he would regret ever saying it in the first place.

“Thank you Anne,” he murmured wetly, and with a final squeeze they broke apart, him dashing a hand across his eyes.

“Anytime. You know that.” She squeezed his arm again, retrieving her satchel from the floor. “You know where to find me if you need to talk again.”

And then she left, stepping back out into the sunlight, leaving Jerry in the shadows of the gloomy shed, ruminating on how strange life can be; how one person’s understanding of the world can be completely different from another’s. How Anne can love Diana so deeply, hold her in such high regard because when they are together she is fun and kind and respects Anne as an equal, but when she looked at life from another’s lens, when he shared his experience of his relationship with Diana, she can only see the hurt Diana had caused. How she made others feel inferior and unworthy. And he wasn’t. He didn’t want to be anymore.

**********

Friday afternoon came quickly, Anne sitting in English as Ms Stacy handed around an updated reading list.

“And due to this being the week we celebrate dear Saint Valentine; I have added some classic literature to your list that tackles the theme of love.”

Anne ran her eye down the list. She had read every book on it but a re-read might be necessary. What better way to spend Valentine’s day than reading _Pride and Prejudice_ and then readying yourself for a date? She tucked the list into her bag and began packing up as the bell rang out. Ruby grabbed her arm excitedly and dragged her towards the door.

“Ruby, where are we going?” Anne asked, annoyance in her voice.

“He posted,” Ruby squeaked. Anne stared at her, her jaw falling slack and her mouth feeling cottony.

“Who posted?” she choked.

“Gilbert, silly. Wasn’t that the whole point?”

They stopped in front of the gaudy pink board, note after note after note tacked on. Some were scandalous and some were sweet and amongst the expanse of pink, heart shaped post-its Ruby had found the one addressed to her.

_“Ruby Gillis is the most beautiful girl in school.”_

“Isn’t it romantic?” Ruby squealed. Anne stood on tiptoe to inspect the note more closely. She couldn’t understand why he would post after how they had left their conversation yesterday. And, she noticed, sadly, after a closer interrogation of the message and the easy, rounded hand it was written in, she was right. The note wasn’t from Gilbert Blythe. She would know his handwriting anywhere; a distinctive scrawl, almost illegible.

“It’s the most beautiful thing ever written about me,” Ruby sighed, her hands clasped to her chest. Anne smiled too. She couldn’t break her heart; not a day before her birthday.

“It’s a beautiful note,” she confirmed, her hand rubbing Ruby’s arm as her friend remained transfixed by the little pink heart. And then Ruby’s pretty face distorted into a scowl.

“What is that horrible thing doing there?” she questioned, prodding at a post-card covered in white gardenias hidden amongst the candy pink and shocking fuchsia sticky notes. Anne studied it carefully. “It completely ruins the aesthetic. They’re meant to be pink love notes. Not post cards!”

She ripped the card from the board, turning it in her hands to read the inscription and gasping when she read who it was addressed to. A trembling hand held the card out to Anne, her eyes wide and watery. “Oh, Anne, it’s so romantic,” Ruby gushed, her annoyance at the offending card sullying the uniformity of her display suddenly forgotten.

With twitching fingers, Anne lifted the postcard from Ruby’s outstretched hand and slowly turned it. Penned in block lettering with fluid, dark ink it read:

_‘ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT,_

_YOU ARE SO MUCH SUNSHINE IN EVERY SQUARE INCH._

_WITH LOVE.’_

She gulped back, reading the words over and over again. Her eyes shot to Ruby, who was enraptured with the note.

“Do you know who it is?” she asked earnestly.

Anne shook her head; the writing was all in block capitals. She had no clue whose hand that could be. She read the note again. _‘You are so much sunshine in every square inch’_ \- a quote from Walt Whitman. She loved Walt Whitman and so did someone else she knew. She closed her eyes, reminiscing on that first date with Roy. He declared how much he enjoyed Walt Whitman on that very date; they had even chosen him for their project. She drank in the note again; ‘ _with love’,_ the same sign off used on her Christmas gift; the beautiful pen she loved so dearly, that swirled and curved enchanting words into her notebook, each story spun like magic since she received it. It was Roy; it had to be Roy. She smiled softly, reading the note again. Just when she felt she was giving up on him, he always did something to surprise her. She took Ruby’s hand, tucking the post-card into her satchel. She wasn’t leaving it on that garish board for the whole school to see. She was taking it home, where it would sit pride of place on her dresser amongst her most treasured knick-knacks, so she could read it every day.

**********

Gilbert stood on the porch outside Green Gables, running his hands through his curls nervously before lifting his hand to the knocker on the door. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He had spent all afternoon selecting it, Bash leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed, laughing as he ripped another shirt from his body, dragging it over his head and throwing it onto a bundle of discarded clothes that hadn’t made the cut that were piling precariously on his bed.

“Blythe, you are as skittish as a bride,” Bash chuckled as Gilbert fumbled on the buttons of another shirt, his nerves causing the dexterity in his fingers to seize. “Let’s hope you don’t decide to be a surgeon or God help any poor person laying on the operating table in front of you.”

Bash fastened the last few buttons for him, Gilbert rolling his eyes and straightening the collar. It was a teal blue shirt; a retro shirt from the 80’s that he found in a charity shop that was relaxed and baggy and made him feel sort of cool; ‘quirky’ was what Anne called it. “I just want to look _nice_ for her; like I’m _worthy_ of her. But obviously not that I made _too_ much effort.”

“What makes you think you’re not worthy of her? She asked you, didn’t she?” Bash asked. He was still reeling in disbelief that she had. Two days ago, Gilbert had stumbled through the kitchen door, his face as white as a sheet but flushing with elation.

“I think Anne just asked me on a date,” he blurted, sinking into the nearest chair and covering his face with his hands, smothering the grin that he found difficult to shake since he left her at Green Gables gate.

“You’re sure?” Bash had asked him, shocked. This had been going on for so long, he pictured Gilbert being wrinkled and grey and still choking out how much he loved Anne unrequitedly. Bash would be greyer and more wrinkled but would give him a gummy smile and tell him that he should just tell her and let the chips fall, like he always did. He never actually imagined what would happen when one of them took the initiative and actually did. But he was happy for him. Indescribably so.

“Don’t belittle yourself. You’re equals, Blythe. You enter this as equals. Don’t be putting yourself down.”

Gilbert swallowed back. He knew they were on a level playing field when it came to academics and they were equals in their friendship, but he never felt he matched her as a romantic partner. She was so clever and caring and giving, and he was just- him. Awkward, a little shy. She enchanted everyone she met; friends were something she made easily and he knew there were a string of boys in school who fancied her, himself being one of them. She could have anyone she wanted and there were many people more worthy of her than him. He was still in shock that he would be going to Ruby’s party with her tonight. It was a boundary they had never crossed before and he was equal parts excited and terrified.

He had blushed furiously when he finally settled on his outfit and tried his hardest to tame his unruly curls, cursing them under his breath, before tripping into the kitchen where Bash winked and wolf-whistled at him, Muriel giggling from the table with Dellie on her knee.

“Isn’t your Uncle Gilby very handsome, Dellie?” she cooed and grinned at him, Dellie clapping her hands excitedly as he dropped a kiss to her chubby cheek.

He grabbed his keys, taking a deep breath. “Okay. This is it. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Blythe. Do not make a moke of yourself and don’t go rushing into anything. Take your time. Don’t scare her off,” Bash joked, shooting him a double thumbs-up at his nod.

“You don’t need luck, Gilbert. Just be yourself. I see a lot from the front of a classroom and Anne not reciprocating your feelings isn’t something you need to worry about.” Gilbert flushed at her words; embarrassed that his teacher had probably noticed how he could never take his eyes off her and struck with the happy realisation that Anne must have sneaked glances at him too. Muriel smiled kindly at him and, feeling reinforced at their words of wisdom, he threw the door open to leave.

“But don’t get her pregnant tonight, Blythe, or I swear to God!” he heard Bash yell as the door swung shut, cut off as Muriel smacked his arm playfully, hissing out a, “Hush, now.”

But now, all the resolve had vanished. He was twitching with anxiety as he stood on her porch, waiting to be let in; to see her. He heard movement from behind the door, smiling brightly as Rachel Lynde answered.

“Gilbert. How are you?” she asked, ushering him into the hall.

“I’m very well, thank you, Mrs Lynde.”

“Are you here for an errand? Marilla is through here.” He followed her through to the kitchen, where Marilla was furiously rolling out dough. She greeted Gilbert, her brow furrowing as he explained he was here to see Anne.

“Oh, I see,” said Marilla, shooting a confused look to Rachel. “I didn’t realise she was expecting more than one guest. You can shoot on up to her, there.”

He thanked them, confused by their expressions and the fact that there was another person expected to be here too. He wondered if they would be joined by the others; maybe Diana and Cole. He heard the voices in the kitchen whisper as he climbed the stairs, the hushed voices drowned out by the sound of Harry Styles crooning from the upstairs gable room. He walked along the corridor, stopping in front of her door, slightly ajar, a crack of light spilling from it and illuminating the hall. He peeked through to see her scowl at her reflection in the mirror before turning in a slow circle, scrutinizing every angle of herself. She wore a pale blue dress with a dainty lace trim at the neckline, the dip of it exposing the creamy skin and tempting freckles that brushed her neck and chest, dipping low under her dress. He felt his breath stop as he watched her twirl, the skirt swishing playfully around her thighs as she spun. He lifted his hand, a tremor to it he noticed, and knocked gently, once, twice.

She spun to the door; eyes wide when she noticed him there, her cheeks flushing at the thought of him witnessing the display in front of her mirror.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped at him. She hadn’t meant it to sound cruel, but it ripped from her harshly, surprised at the intrusion. She noticed him flinch, a sliver of hurt flit across his face. He swallowed back, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“Am I not supposed to be meeting you here?” He asked lightly, drumming his fingers to his thighs nervously. He watched her place her hands on her hips, her eyes narrow at him and felt panic rise in his chest. Was she not expecting him? Did she forget?

“No, _you_ are supposed to be at Diana’s. Did she not tell you that?”

“Obviously not or I wouldn’t be here. Why should I be at Diana’s?” He was confused. He was supposed to be here tonight; he was going to Ruby’s with Anne. What would take him to Diana’s? He was friendly with Diana but he never spent time with her alone. He would find that awkward struggling to come up with something to talk to her about and probably gushing about Anne for the whole conversation; lost in the only mutual interest they had. 

Anne shook her head, returning to surveying her reflection. “Honestly, don’t you two ever communicate?” she asked, exasperatedly, huffing out a laugh with large, wild eyes.

“I don’t understand. Am I – Am I not going with you?” he asked her dryly. He couldn’t quite process what was happening and had no clue what to ask to make it clearer to him. Why was Diana even included in this conversation?

“We are all going to be at Ruby’s together. But _you_ are _going_ with Diana. Or did you forget you had a girlfriend?” She spoke harshly when she addressed him. He didn’t understand why she was cross at him. She was angry with him often but this felt unjustified. If it was a misunderstanding she only had to say it. And since when did he have a girlfriend? Had he not gone so long waiting for Anne that Bash had begun teasing him about taking Holy Orders for a monastery?

“Do I?” he squeaked, flushing at how stupid he sounded. His mind was reeling with questions, thoughts linking together and not making sense and he could only seem to verbalise stuttering, monosyllabic questions.

“Oh, honestly, Gilbert,” she huffed, bustling towards him to push him from her room. “Diana. You know, the girl you’ve been seeing since July? You have to go. You can’t be here when Roy arrives.”

And she attempted to push into him but his hands snapped against her wrists, holding her in place before him.

“Anne, explain to me what is happening here?” he probed, his eyes searching hers to reveal to him a flicker of feeling; a glimmer of hope. “Why is Roy coming here?”

“Because,” Anne snapped, tugging her hands from his grip and pacing back two steps. She felt the heat radiate off him; the sense of urgency in his voice causing her skin to tingle. “I’m dating him. I’ve been seeing him since Tillie’s house and he asked me on a date.”

Gilbert felt his hands drop to his sides, embarrassment wash over him from the roots of his hair to the soles of his feet. Of course, she was going with Roy. How had he gotten it so wrong?

“Oh,” he mumbled.

“Oh? Oh? What are you _doing_ here Gilbert?” Anne felt herself fill with rage at him, steaming through her veins and threatening to overboil. Why was he standing here in front of her, his face like a rejected puppy dog, when he was supposed to be at his girlfriends? When he didn’t answer, she groaned loudly, turning from him, her body simmering with frustration; frustration at her feelings for him and frustration at why he was acting so stupid. 

He mumbled something low and inaudible behind her. She spun to him again.

“What?” she spat, her hands on her hips.

He stared at her, his gaze shifting from the floor and trailing slowly over her exposed limbs and up over her chest, resting eventually on her face. She felt herself flush under his gaze, the hairs on her skin stand to attention. She crossed her arms over her chest; hiding herself from his probing eyes. She swallowed back, nervous.

“I said,” he croaked, his eyes dull and grey, the warm honey flecks lost amongst the grey gloominess, “I thought I was going with you.”

Anne drew back, a jolt to her heart causing her blood to pulse faster through her, her heartbeat to race. “Why would you be going with me?” Her voice was rising now, temper flaring at how he was looking at her; his fists clenched but his eyes wide as if he was waiting for something to happen; for a penny to drop.

His gaze locked on hers and she noticed he took a step closer, the space between them narrowing.

“Anne…” he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, low and rasping.

“What about Diana?” she choked; her voice cracking with the strain of the lump that was swelling in her throat; the panic at how the growl to his throat made her body explode with heat, flames usurping her blood and licking and swirling through each artery, each vein.

“What _about_ Diana?” he groaned frustratedly. He reached for her but she tugged her arm away.

“Gil, I can’t believe you,” Anne spat venomously. “She’s my best friend – your girlfriend, for Christ’s sake- and you’re standing here with me!”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Diana!” he cried, raking his hand through his hair.

“Oh, don’t lie to me, Gilbert” Anne yelled, pushing into him angrily. She ripped herself away from him, pointing accusingly. “I know you’ve been seeing her; I’ve seen all the little glances and heard the stupid excuses. I saw how she _looked_ at you when you told us about your crush; that stupid little crush that you’ve kept a secret from me all this time!”

“Why would there be anything going on between me and Diana, Anne? We barely even speak,” he shot heatedly, desperation rising in him, increasing the urgency with which he spoke. He attempted to pull her to him again, have her shut up for a moment and listen to him. “Please, just listen to me.”

“Stop denying it, Gilbert! She told me herself!”

“Well, she’s lying!” He cried, embarrassed at how their voices reverberated around the room and probably travelled down the hall. He imagined, with a grimace, that Mrs Lynde would be standing at the foot of the stairs, ear cocked, grinning feverishly at the spat she overheard.

“Why would she do that? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous? Anne, I don’t love her and I’m not with her. I have no clue why she lied to you about it but she did. You have to believe me!”

“Believe you? And why should I believe you over her, huh? I was there that day you were holed up in her room. I know what you’ve done. I know you told her you _loved_ her, just a few days ago!”

He shook his head wildly. What was happening here? Why was Diana lying about him? And more to the point, why did Anne believe her? Surely, she knew; she had to have known it was her. He never even _glanced_ at another girl, never mind Diana.

“I didn’t do that,” he shot defensively.

“Oh yeah? And she made it up?” Anne's voice was swirling with anger; hot and spiteful. He felt it warp and wrap around him, sinking into his blood and bones; his body sizzling with anger.

“Yes!”

“And your proof?!”

“I’m in love with _you_ , Anne!”

There it was…His biggest secret, hanging in the air between them.

Anne stilled, frozen to the spot, her heart hammering in her chest, a tremor flowing through her body causing her to tremble. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes before dragging them roughly through his curls, his breathing deep and ragged as he tried to regain control of his temper. Then he dropped his hands and laughed a breathy, mirthless laugh.

“Jesus, Anne – I’m in love with you. And I can’t believe I just roared it at you. And I can’t believe I actually said it - to you; the person who needed to hear it. Who has a right to.”

He paused, waiting for a response and bracing himself for the worst but Anne remained quiet, drawing a step further from him, her shoulders sloped defeatedly but her eyes wide and glassy, still locked to his.

“Gil, I- “she whispered but her words failed; his declaration rendered her thoughts incomprehensible. It had been Diana. He was in love with Diana; not her. Not freckled, red-headed, angry little Anne. They were perfect; him and Diana; a gorgeous, clever couple. She shook her head, dizzy and panicked at the feeling of the ground shifting beneath her feet; tumbling chaotically down the rabbit-hole, unsure if she would survive the fall or how this would end.

“Look, it’s fine,” he rushed desperately into the quiet. He expected a laugh or a scowl or a slap but this was worse; silence. “Please, don’t let me down gently. I don’t need some excuse for it not being reciprocated. You know now, so let me tell you what I want to say.”

He fidgeted with nerves, his fingers flexing through the short curls at the back of his neck but he battled on, desperate to reveal what he had kept hidden for so long. Pandora’s box had been opened; the contents had to spill free and whatever havoc was wreaked was a consequence he would have to face.

He gulped back. “I love you, Anne. I have loved you ever since you whacked me across the face with that stupid book and Mr Phillips called you a very ill-tempered girl and you told him what’s ill-tempered in a girl he would think bravery in a boy. You were standing up for yourself and I was so impressed by you that I couldn’t even be mad that you thought I was a bully. Do you remember?” He laughed breathily and Anne noticed his eyes had become glassy. She bit down on her lip, attempting to quell the wobble of emotion that threatened to break free.

At Anne’s nod, he continued, pacing, “And that was it for me. I thought ‘Here she is. That’s her. Game over.” And I was right. I’m so _proud_ of you, Anne. You’re the best person I know and you’re so passionate and caring and clever and, God, so beautiful, Anne. It kills me when you think otherwise.”

“I always thought, she doesn’t love you back. And if that’s true, Anne, that’s fine. I don’t expect your favour. Being near you, it was enough. I mean, what would someone as amazing as you be doing with me anyway? You’re destined for your romantic hero…your book boyfriend. I’m not him to you.” He stopped pacing, taking a step towards her, slow and cautious. “Anne, I’m not him to you, am I?”

“I – You…” she stuttered but she didn’t know what stupid sentence her mouth was even trying to formulate. Her mind reeled. It was Diana. He had been in love with Diana only 20 minutes ago…But it had been her all along. She knew how she felt about him; how her skin flushed and prickled when he touched her. How his voice said her name like he worshipped it and it caused her stomach to flutter with restless butterflies. He was her favourite person, even more than Diana, but did she love him? She wasn’t sure. Her heart sang when she was with him, so full and happy, but was that Eros; true, beautiful, unadulterated love? Or just the swell of a heart when it’s with someone it connects with so perfectly; that it adores as a most treasured friend?

He moved closer again, entering her space, and she could smell him; the musky, masculine scent of him; oak and sea salt mingled with fresh citrus. She felt dwarfed by how tall he was, how his presence dominated her, caused her nerves to tingle feverishly. “Anne,” he murmured. “Please say something.”

“Gil, Roy is going to be here soon,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his again, fearful of the intensity in them; the hurt that swam there.

“Do you love him?”

“No,” she answered, truthfully.

“And do you love me?” he croaked and when he reached out to take her hands in his, she let him, staring at how their fingers fit together so perfectly like they had never done this before. Like his hands were alien to her. He raised his hand to her chin, tilting it upwards so she was looking directly at him; his eyes dark, boring into hers. “Anne, do you love me?” he urged, his voice resolute, desperate.

“I don’t know…,” she whispered, unable to draw her gaze from his.

Gilbert allowed his hand to rest on her cheek, his thumb stroke her skin there, soft and velvety, trail into her hair, waiting for her to pull away from him and put an end to it; the only sounds in the room their thundering heartbeats and gasping, ragged breaths.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought. _If she’s breaking my heart tonight, she’s going to have to do it right._

And he surged forward, crashing his lips to hers, the suddenness of it causing them both to stumble backwards, her back bumping into her bookcase.

His lips were passionate; insistent. She gasped into his mouth, melting into him, the feeling of his arm snake around her waist and the pressure of his mouth on hers, his body pressing into her in a way that made her flood with heat. She twisted her hands into the front of his shirt, intoxicated by the scent of him, a scent so familiar, that she revelled in all day but that was sending her mad tonight, and how dizzy she felt, drawing him closer to her until she could feel every inch of him against her.

He tightened his grasp around her waist, drawing her to him, his tongue running along the seam of her lips inciting her to open them, and she whimpered at the feeling of his open mouth against hers, tongue dipping into her; the feeling so passionate and hurried and _right_. It felt right.

She slid her hands to his shoulders, dragging him to her, needing to be closer to him, and felt herself battle for control. He let her, his mouth slowing against hers as she took charge, deepening their kiss and tangling her fingers into his hair, her fingernails dragging lightly at his scalp causing him to tremble. He sighed headily, her swallowing the sound breathlessly, her body zinging with electricity.

What was happening? This was _Gilbert?_ Steady and dependable and not at all dangerous and mysterious; not at all the type of person she expected her body to sing for, to cry out for. She felt his lips slow against hers, the passion simmering into gentle kisses, their lips slotting together like a puzzle; his lips being the piece that was always missing; the only lips that gave her the toe-curling, knees-weakening kiss she desperately dreamt of. Who would have thought?

They broke apart, his hands gripping her waist and he let his forehead rest against hers; he still had his eyes closed, his lashes fanning against his cheekbones in a thick, dark sweep. He was beautiful. She knew that he was handsome but she was never this close to him before. She had never seen him like _this;_ swollen lips and flushed cheeks, his chest heaving in hurried, gasping breaths. When he opened his eyes again she sucked in a sharp gasp. His eyes locked to hers and they were dark and hooded and hazy; like he was in a trance or lost in a dream. Like what had just happened was a fantasy that he never expected to come true.

There was a sharp knock to the front door, a deep bass mingling with the female voices in the kitchen. He was here.

“Anne, send him away. Please don’t go with him,” Gilbert rasped, his fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of her waist, his breath hot on her cheek.

“Gil, I can’t,” she croaked, that troublesome lump swelling in her throat again at how his features fell; the clench to his jaw, the obvious swallow. He let his hands drop and he stepped away from her, nodding sharply as Roy’s footsteps thundered up the stairs. She felt her body cry out for him, desperate for the heat that enveloped her, that she felt safe in.

Roy knocked the door playfully, pushing it open and then freezing at the threshold when he took in the scene before him; Anne leaning against her bookcase, skin flushed and lips reddened, and Gilbert, two strides from her, his hands clenched into fists, his features contorted with tension.

“Have I interrupted something?” Roy asked lightly, his laughter a poor attempt to fizzle out the crackling tension in the room.

“No,” Gilbert answered sharply. “I’ll be off now.” His dark eyes flickered to Anne’s once more and he felt his body riddle with horrible, disgusting anger at how she still gazed at him; her eyes still attached to him despite Roy being here. “Goodbye, Anne.”

He tucked his hands into his pockets and retreated a few steps, glancing back at her again; something on her face akin to how he felt; heartbreak. Finally. After all those cracks and breaks, the hollowing of his heart that happened gradually over his six years of knowing her - of being in love with her - his heart had finally disintegrated. There was none of it left, just a deep crevice where it once sat, deep in the cavity of his chest. He stepped through the door, Roy eyeing him suspiciously as he left and retreated down the hall.

“Is everything alright? Did you guys have a fight?” he heard Roy ask her from where he was at the top of the stairs. He trudged heavily down three steps, his ears straining for her answer.

“It’s nothing; not important. Could you excuse me for a moment?”

 _Not important,_ he thought bitterly. Maybe not to her but it was to him. His life was never going to be the same after this. He heard the soft patter of feet against the floorboards above him, stopping at the top of the stairs.

“Gil,” she hissed, and he stilled, turning to her on the staircase. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged and allowed himself to indulge in one more gaze at her, his eyes dragging over her creamy legs and her beautiful blue dress, her hair spilling around her shoulders in large waves. Her beautiful face; a broken splendour today, sadness settled on her features.

“You look really beautiful,” he whispered, his mouth twisting into a sad smile.

“You have to tell me that. You’re my best friend.” She laughed hollowly.

“No. I shouldn’t tell you that because I’m your best friend.”

And then he turned from her, descending the stairs with heavy steps and disappearing from view. She stared after him, the lump in her throat swelling uncomfortably, tears pooling along her lash line. She dashed at her eyes quickly, glancing back at her room. There was a boy in there who bought her beautiful gifts and wrote her Walt Whitman poetry as a love declaration and beat up a bully for her honour. She didn’t love him yet but she could because he was the type of boy she wanted. Romantic and caring; sentimental. He was her book boyfriend. She glanced back down the stairs, her treacherous heart aching for the friend who disappeared into the shadows.

Her head was still struggling to process everything that had happened; their fight, his declaration, their kiss. Had Diana lied to her? She wasn’t sure but thinking back now, in her agitated state, she couldn’t recall Diana ever mentioning names; ever telling her it was Gilbert. Could that have all been true? He had never been with Diana and he was in love with her? But she had ruined it; they couldn’t be fixed now. She had picked Roy over him. She hadn’t meant to but she panicked, saving Roy’s feelings at finding them tangled together in her room when he was supposed to be taking her on a date. She had turned him into a shell of himself, his voice echoing and his eyes dull.

Oh, God. What had she done?

*********

Gilbert stumbled back into the kitchen at the foot of the stairs, ducking his head and mumbling a hasty “Bye” to the two women there, who gaped at him with wide, curious stares, like he was an exotic bird in a zoo exhibit on opening day. He was glad to be out into the air, back on the porch, gasping in great lungful’s of it, the February chill cutting at him, but still it was less painful than what had just happened in the upstairs bedroom.

She had made her choice. He glanced back at the house, noticing Rachel Lynde’s face at the window, her lips twisting furiously, no doubt garbling an account of what he was doing on the front porch to Marilla after loudly declaring love for her daughter. He lifted his hand in a stupid wave and she waved back. Shameless, he thought. He swallowed back and made his way back down the path; back home. He would be the talk of Avonlea tomorrow if Rachel had her way so it was probably best he spent the night at home; allow himself time to cry and rage and swear thoughtlessly into the dark of his room; let Bash give him one of those brotherly pep-talks he was so good at to bolster him. Let himself remove her from his space; pack up her books and her jacket that she left there. Get rid of the hair-ties that she kept in the top drawer of his desk and the little pot of cherry scented Carmex that sat on the beside cabinet on her side of his bed, that he used to watch her apply in a trance; captivated by the purse to her lips, how she pressed them together afterwards and how soft and pink they looked. He would wash the hoodie that she wore when she snuggled in his bed and still claimed she was cold; the burgundy one that he hated but never had the heart to get rid of because it was hers; she had even cut thumbholes into the cuffs. And, sometimes, on nights when his longing for her spiked uncontrollably, he would tuck it into bed beside him, allow the smell of her that clung to it intoxicate him; fill his senses up – meadow flowers and moss; fresh herbs and lemon balm. Her.

He felt his phone jump in his pocket, the vibrations startling him back to reality; standing in the dark street, dimly lit with an orange streetlight, the cold air seeping through his denim jacket and into his soul. He felt a momentary flash of anticipation; what if it was her? What if she changed her mind and followed him, turning towards Ruby’s instead of his house and was calling to tell him to wait, that she needed to find him; to repeat that kiss.

He glanced at the screen and his heart plummeted. It was Moody.

“Hello?”

“Hey, man. Where are you? I’m at Ruby’s and you said you’d be here and I’m freaking out! I’m going to tell her tonight but I can’t do it without you. Please come and hit me and tell me to shake myself. I NEED HELP!”

Gilbert laughed breathily into the phone and ran a hand down his face.

“Moody, I’m not going.”

“Not going? But you have to! How can I do this without you? You were the one who told me to write her that stupid note.”

And he was. He had pulled Moody aside the day after Anne had asked him to pen a love-note to Ruby and told him hurriedly about how much she wanted a note; how he thought it was a good way for Moody to declare his feelings for her. What he didn’t expect, however, was for him to keep it anonymous. He had slipped to the board himself, glancing around to ensure there were no eyes on him; nobody watching what he was doing. And he slipped a post-card from his pocket; one he had picked especially for Anne, covered in white gardenia’s, the flower of the best friend in her notebook. The one who was foolishly, unrequitedly in love. That was a clue, he thought. She would know exactly who it was from; the Walt Whitman quote to remind her of the summer evenings spent on a picnic blanket on the grass at the back of Green Gables, when he would read Walt Whitman from his dad’s old books aloud and she would hum along, eyes closed, enraptured with the words, and he would trace her outline with his eyes, marvel at how she glowed under the brilliant sunlight.

And when he searched the board for Moody’s note, he felt panic swell in him. He left it anonymous. It could have been from anyone. It could have been from Gilbert.

“I’m not feeling too well, is all,” Gilbert mumbled into the phone. It was the best way to explain his feelings without being too specific; how he declared love, pressured her to admit something she didn’t feel and then took her in his arms and kissed her, a brilliant, life-changing kiss; one he knew no other girl would be able to replicate, all because he was feckless and loved to torture himself. _Did this make him a masochist?_ he wondered dumbly; seeking gratification through causing himself pain. He seemed to seek pain all the time, allowing himself to get so close to her, all the while knowing he would only ever be her friend.

“Can’t you come for an hour?” Moody pleaded. There was a loud thud, three bangs and Moody shouted out, “Just a minute!”

“Where are you?”

“Hiding in the toilet. I thought I was going to take a panic attack when I saw her. She didn’t even acknowledge the note!”

“Alright, Moody, calm down. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” And he hung up, nausea settling deep into his belly at the thought of how he was going to have to endure Anne’s company for an hour at least. Her and Roy.

Yep, he might just be a masochist.

**********

Gilbert pushed himself through the grumbling crowd that had gathered outside the upstairs bathroom of Ruby’s house, rapping sharply at the door and calling through it, “Moody, it’s me.”

The door opened abruptly and he was pulled into the pink and cream tiled room by the arm, the door snapping shut behind him again to groans and cries from the people in the hall.

“How long have you been in here?” he asked Moody, watching as he sunk down onto the edge of the bath, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Dunno, about 40 minutes?”

“Jesus, Moody, you’ll be mobbed when you leave,” he laughed gently, sinking onto the floor and leaning against the pedestal sink, crossing his legs. He took in Moody’s pained expression, the worry that furrowed his brow. “Right, you can do this,” he shot at him, clapping his hands loudly. “You are a really great guy; you like her a lot and you wrote her an amazing note that she will have loved. _You_ and her match perfectly. It’s time.”

Moody nodded purposefully. “Yes. But I need a drink.”

And so, the two of them left the upstairs bathroom to a chorus of sarcastic cheers and jostled through the partygoers, pushing themselves into the kitchen and the assortment of alcohol that Ruby had her older sisters buy that was arranged on the table. He poured them a generous measure of vodka each and they threw them back neat, Gilbert wincing at the sour taste and how it hit the back of his throat. Moody gulped his eagerly and held his glass out for another, Gilbert obligingly pouring another shot.

When Moody had thrown it back, he clapped Gilbert on the shoulder. “I’m going to find her.”

“Good luck,” Gilbert called after him and he was gone, disappearing into the crowd. Gilbert hoped that Moody would have more luck than he did. Ruby clung onto this childish crush she had on him but if she looked underneath the fantasy of being with him because he was her first crush she would see she actually had feelings for Moody. They clicked; similar sense of humour and a child-like innocence they managed to maintain; finding everything in the world marvellous and magical. He envied them for that. His childishness dimmed the day his father told him how his mother died and extinguished completely the day he and his father sat in Dr Ward’s office and were told that the shadow they had found on his father’s CAT scan was a tumour; pancreatic, difficult to recover from. Gilbert was 13 but he wasn’t a child anymore. Worry and uncertainty and grief had marred his innocence.

He poured himself another drink, savouring it this time; swirling the liquid around the glass and sipping at it. And, like he was a compass and she was the north, he spotted her in the crowd; brilliant red hair, that flirty little blue dress, lips, that he knew now tasted sweet like cherries and peppermint, arranged into a pretty smile, Roy’s hand resting on her lower back.

And like she was magnetised to him, their eyes met and the smile on her face died. He ducked his face from her, trembling hands pouring another drink and throwing it back, the hazy effect of the alcohol already taking effect on him; fogging his brain, numbing his extremities, making the troubling thoughts in his head swirl nonsensically.

“Are you getting shit-faced tonight for any particular reason?” he heard a voice purr close to his ear and his head snapped to see Christine Stuart grin at him, her full lips coated in blood-red lipstick, glossy chestnut curls arranged over her shoulder. She toyed at her hair, tilting into him when she spoke and his eyes snapped away from where she was desperately wishing he would look, tilted forward so he had a clear view of the tanned skin of her cleavage and the lacy bra that peeked out from below the neckline of her dress. He stumbled away from her. This felt like a trap and he was a little drunk and definitely vulnerable and he didn’t even _like_ Christine. Gilbert glanced towards Anne again, startled to see her watching him, something resembling jealousy on her face but that couldn’t have been right. Roy whispered to her, his mouth brushing her ear and she broke eye contact to answer him, smiling tightly.

Gilbert took the opportunity, no longer locked in her gaze, to escape, pushing through the crowd and stumbling out onto the grass, the alcohol flooding his veins, making his vision blur hazily. He sat at the shallow steps leading to the patio in Ruby’s garden, drawing his knees close to him, his elbows resting on top and his hands buried into his hands.

“There you are,” he heard a voice laugh. He looked up, his eyes wild and his chest heaving great breaths, to see Ruby watch him from the foot of the steps, her hands behind her back. She was wearing a low-cut pink dress with a tight-fitting skirt; her hair arranged over one shoulder in great barrel curls. Gilbert ran his hand over his face.

“Hi, Ruby,” he mumbled coarsely.

“May I sit?” she asked him and when he gestured to the spot beside him she tentatively climbed the steps and sunk down onto the cold stone. The two of them sat in silence, watching the revelry through the kitchen window; a rather raucous game of Cards Against Humanity coupled with a drinking game. Jane was winning; she could hold her liquor like a sailor.

“I got your note,” Ruby said eventually, breaking the steady silence. Gilbert glanced at her; his brow furrowed. He thought Moody would have found her already.

“Do you remember this?” Ruby teased at his confused expression and she uncurled a hand, unveiling a neatly folded pink heart. “It was really beautiful, Gilbert.”

“Ruby…” he began but she thrust herself forward, her lips pursed, eyes scrunched closed tightly. He jerked away quickly, his heart hammering in her chest. “I didn’t write this!”

Ruby drew back abruptly, her eyes wide and her mouth formed into a dainty little ‘o’. “You didn’t?”

“No. But I know who did.”

Ruby swallowed back a groan and buried her face into her hands. “Ugh, of course you didn’t. I’m so stupid. Diana told me, you know, that she thought you liked Anne but that can’t be true. You’ve known each other for years and you’ve never made a move. Not one! I thought you must have liked me.” Her eyes glassed over, tears threatening to slip from them.

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey – please don’t cry. I’m sorry. I never really thought that your feelings ran that deep,” he soothed, patting gently at her arm. “You did nothing wrong. I – I do like Anne, Ruby. I’m sorry.”

Ruby stared at him like he had just spontaneously sprouted a second head. “You do like her?”

He shrugged, a sad smile quirking his lips, exposing the dimple hidden ay the corner of his mouth.

“But if you do,” Ruby pressed, “why have you never done anything about it? Heck, Gilbert, Roy has been so romantic this whole year. He posted for her and everything; a beautiful card with flowers on it and poetry on the back. You should have seen Anne when she read it. She was _glowing._ ”

Gilbert swallowed thickly; his voice lost in his throat. She had got it. She received his note, the one with the gardenias on it. “She got it?” he urged, Ruby nodding bewilderedly at him. “She read it?”

“Yes,” Ruby laughed, mystified at the change in the brilliantly beautiful boy that sat in beside her, his sloped shoulder squaring, a quiet confidence altering his frame.

“She thought it was from Roy?”

Ruby nodded again, a little dumbstruck at the desperation in his voice; how when he spoke it was as though his life depended on it. And maybe it did because he sure as hell knew there would be no-one else for him than Anne; _his_ Anne.

And Roy had _lied_ to her; he had taken ownership of the note. His note. It wasn’t a grand, romantic gesture; it wasn’t writing a letter every day for a year or running across the bleachers singing _‘Can’t Take my Eyes of You’_ with a marching band accompaniment but it was _his_ ; it was quiet but well meaning, just like him. A ‘take-notice’, like she suggested, and he was acknowledging to her that he had taken notice of her six years ago in a stuffy little classroom, when his desperation to talk to her led him to lean across the gap between their desks and tug her long, red braid, hissing “Carrots!” and she clouted him across the head; that very book sitting on his bookshelf now, rescued from a pile of books she was going to donate to Minnie-May because she had outgrown them. It was him telling her of the history they shared; how she brightened his life and made the dark times he suffered through more bearable. How his love for her transcended his words; he had to take someone else’s.

‘ _If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.’_ That was what he had read in a book she gave him; the same book that prompted her to talk about love blossoming from friendship and to look at him with a sparkling dreaminess in her ocean blue eyes. Was she endeared to Roy for a small gesture he didn’t even commit? Or did Gilbert have a chance after all? 

He shot to his feet, jumping the few steps before turning back to Ruby, pressing her love note back into her hand. “This is from Moody. Please speak to him. You’ll be doing you both a favour.”

And as he ran across the grass he turned back to her again. “And Ruby; remember when Anne said you were as beautiful before as you are now?” Ruby nodded with wide eyes, recalling the first day her school friends had seen her honeyed hair and tighter fitting clothes. “She was right.”

Ruby grinned as she watched Gilbert disappear back into the crowd. It was like a modern-day love story; she adored them. She got to her feet, brushing at the back of her too tight dress, cursing wearing it in the first place, and she read her own love note again. She was about to face something that she had held for a while; a soft flicker of admiration for a clumsy boy with a kind smile. She would find him now, thank him for the note and allow the chips fall where they may.

Gilbert shouldered through the crowd, searching frantically for a glimpse of red curls or a pretty blue dress but he could see neither. He moved from the kitchen, stumbling into the living room, where Ruby had set up a makeshift dancefloor, crowds spinning and dancing to _I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance with You_ by The Black Kids. It was hard to make anyone out among the sea of bobbing heads but he had to find her, adrenalin coursing through his body. And in a flash, there she was, Roy’s hands on her waist, the two of them swaying to the beat. Gilbert swallowed back. They were dancing close and Roy pulled her flush to his body, her lacing an arm lazily around his neck. They were laughing and, as torturous as Gilbert found the vision, he couldn’t drag his eyes away, not even when Roy hesitantly captured her lips with his; Anne’s eyes wide momentarily, before shutting tightly. Gilbert hands fell to his sides, frozen to the spot. He could feel himself lose control of the tightness in his body, the swaying crowd jostling him about as he gasped for air, his head spinning and the taste of bitter bile erupting from his stomach.

A hot breath on his neck was the only thing that brought him around; a curvy brunette snaking an arm around his waist as she ground her body against his. He tried to pull away, but she held him closer.

“Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” the voice slurred. Gilbert jerked his head away, taking in a dishevelled Christine Stuart. She laughed noisily at his stricken expression. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite.” And she growled at him, snapping her teeth together animalistically. Gilbert felt himself break into a sweat as her face neared his and he glanced hastily at where Anne and Roy were embraced. They had broken apart now, Roy spinning Anne under his arm and her stopping suddenly when her eyes met Gilbert’s. She glanced between him and Christine, who was prowling closer, ready to attack, and at the flash of jealousy that surged through him and the spiteful defiance that rose in his chest, when Christine’s lips crashed into his, he let them, allowing her to kiss him messily as Anne watched.

Her hand fell from Roy’s, drinking in Gilbert drunkenly kissing Christine Stuart, her heart thunderous with hurt and jealousy and anger; so, so much anger. After all he had said earlier; that sudden declaration of love that she only recently began to suspect because of a poorly timed almost-kiss in a grubby toilet. Roy touched her elbow lightly, concern on his face. Anne jerked away from him, battling with the sudden desire to be alone.

“Are you alright?” he asked her and she shook her head.

“No. I want to go home,” she yelled over swell of the music.

“Alright, I’ll get our coats.”

“No, Roy. I want to go home alone.” Roy’s brow furrowed but he nodded, being acquainted with Anne Shirley-Cuthbert long enough now to know not to engage in an argument. So, he let her go, her slim frame slipping through the dancing bodies in the living room and pushing into the hall.

When Gilbert and Christine broke apart, her face triumphant, he glanced over her shoulder again to see Roy standing with Cole, his face worried. Where was Anne? He pushed past Christine, her whining in consternation, and tripped his way across to the other boys.

“What happened? Where’s Anne?” he quizzed them, grasping at Roy’s sleeve urgently.

“She left,” Roy explained. “Said she wanted to be alone.” Gilbert felt panic rise in his chest. It was because of him. He knew it was. Oh, he hated himself; he did everything wrong!

“How much of a head start does she have?”

“I don’t know. About five minutes,” Roy shrugged, him and Cole sharing a glance. Gilbert needed to find her; he needed to apologise about Christine and tell her he wrote the note; that note she thought was from Gardner. He turned on his heel and ran, elbowing past his friends and collecting his jacket from the cupboard under the stairs. He threw the door open and raced into the cold night air, desperate to find her; to have her allow him to hold her close again.

**********

Anne had taken a short-cut home, glad that she had forgone her heels for her trusty combat boots as she cut through the park, hot, silent tears rolling down her face. She had forgotten her jacket in her hurry to put distance between her and Gilbert, wrapping her arms tightly across her chest against the biting February cold.

She was angry and hurt and _jealous_. So disgustingly jealous. And she was a hypocrite too, she realised. She had let him kiss her earlier; struck by that fire he ignited in her and a curiosity to see what it would feel like; if he was the kiss she ached for. He had rendered her speechless with what he had told her, the breathlessness to his voice, how he towered over her and choked “I’m not him to you, am I?” And he wasn’t. He wasn’t her fantasy and because of that, she allowed herself to stumble; she felt unable to give the fantasy up for someone so completely tangible.

She wasn’t expecting that from him at all. All this time. All these years and he had spent them loving her. And she was still reluctant to love him back, unsure how she felt; if she could race to him and declare requited feelings. She _liked_ him; she knew she did. But he was expecting love and she wasn’t sure she could give him that.

And yet, when Christine’s arms sidled around his neck and she kissed him, drunkenly pawing at his broad shoulders, she swallowed back the pain that ripped through her chest; her desire to go to Christine and slap her sharply (a feeling that startled her completely. She had always been a girl’s girl) and to draw him in and kiss him again; allow his lips to mesh with hers in a way that nobody else’s had before. She was a mess; her thoughts chaotic, her brain addled with the events of the day and her inability to process them; her childish need to cling onto an eleven-year old’s fantasy. She felt sick.

Her sobs had quietened when she reached the gate of Green Gables, pausing briefly, her hand on the latch, to gasp in a steadying breath in case Marilla was still in the kitchen and might want to catch up on the events of the night. She needed to be reserved; not show a crack of emotion. She wiped her eyes and walked the path to the gate, her heart cracking with the weight she felt. The light was on in the living room, a soft glow warming the hallway. Anne crept past, padding through the kitchen and reaching the sanctuary of her room. She pushed the door closed softly before allowing herself to crumple to the floor, slipping down the door with her knees curled into her chest, huge, heaving sobs wracking through her body.

Anne was always a romantic but here she was, suddenly faced with the starkest truth. Her life wasn’t a book; there was no perfect moment of ‘just knowing’; doubt destroying the fiery kisses and beating butterflies she experienced. Just the harrowing feeling of fooling yourself for so long that you let yourself lose. Of realising that your best friend isn’t what you thought he was but you’re not sure what he is yet. A friend? A mistake? A true, forever love?

A sharp knock at the front door caused her to raise her head. It sounded urgent. She sprung to her feet automatically, peeking out of her window to glimpse at who was standing on their porch at half eleven at night. A voice calling to her dragged her attention back to the entrance of her room.

“Anne?” Marilla called. “Are you there?”

“I am, Marilla,” she called back, her voice sounding thick and watery to her own ears.

“Gilbert is here,” Marilla answered her and Anne strained her ears to hear the low rumble of his voice thanking Marilla and ascending the stairs. Anne panicked, stumbling to her door to ensure it was still locked. She pressed her weight against it heavily. She didn’t want to talk to him, not tonight. Not until she knew what she wanted to say. Her heart thundered and she felt an uncomfortable prickle at her throat. She thought she was out of tears. She was wrong.

And then he was there, just outside her door. She could feel him there; could picture his hand falter before he knocked gently. She sucked in a breath and pressed against the door harder.

“Anne.” His voice was soft and low, tinged with anxiety. “Anne, please let me in.”

“No, Gil. I can’t.” Her voice betrayed her. It was swimming with emotion, a wobble to her words.

“Why not?” he whispered. She didn’t answer, instead she just listened to his breathing, deep and heavy through the wood. There was a soft thud where he had laid his forehead against it. She leant hers there too, in the exact same spot as his; imagining that the wood wasn’t there and she was warmed with his skin, wrapped in his embrace like she had been earlier; tracing his lashes as they lay against his cheekbone. “Anne.”

She sucked in a breath and let it out again, slow and low. She revelled in how he whispered her name, as though she was precious. As though it was the most reverent thing he would ever say. She felt idiotic that she never realised this was always said her name; as if it was Sunday service and he was reciting the Lord’s prayer.

“Gilbert, why are you here?” Her voice cracked; the words punctuated with a sob.

“I want to see you Anne. Please, let me in.”

“Go away,” she croaked. She splayed her fingers against the door, imagining she could feel his tangle with hers.

“Anne, we need to talk.”

“Just go away, Gilbert.” Her voice was urgent; final. There was a gentle thump to the door, where his hand fell against it before she heard him pull away and listened to a sound that she imagined was a choked sob before he spoke, his voice low and rasping; “Anne, I think we’re done here. I can’t – I can’t be around you until I get control of this. Until I forget how to love you.”

Her breathing was heavy as she drank his words in; this was it. It was inevitable, she supposed. She wasn’t sure she could give him what he wanted and he deserved someone who could. She listened as he dropped something to the floor and then walked back down the hallway, his steps slow like a death march.

She opened her door hesitantly when she was confident he was gone, noticing her jacket left in a neat bundle on the floor. She lifted it, drawing it close to her chest and imagining she could still feel warmth from him, where it had been folded in his arms.

She cuddled it close, walking to the window and watching him as he strode down the path, his shoulders slouched and his hands buried deep in his pockets. He was broken, she realised sadly; she had stripped him of his love and friendship in one night; how much did you have to love someone to let them break you twice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> If you haven't gathered, I am a massive book nerd and have read and enjoyed each book I have included as a chapter title so please take them as book recommendations if you are into reading novels. This title is from 'You Had Me at Hello' by a wonderful Scottish author named Mhairi McFarlane. Her books are light-hearted and her characters always have so much personality (you have that on good authority. I have read everything she has ever written) and so if you enjoy authors like Sophie Kinsella, I really recommend reading something by Mhairi. She is super and really underrated. Let me know if you have read anything by her before.
> 
> Now back to our regularly scheduled dissection of the chapter:  
> The treat I promised: ANGST!  
> And one Gilbert Blythe confessing his love to Anne 'I'm pirate' Shirley-Cuthbert. He bit the bullet and yelled it at her and I'm proud of him (and me, because I was going to make you all wait another chapter and then decided to be kind)
> 
> I didn't plan on this being angsty (Is this angst or am I diluted?) but to be honest I really had no plan for this when I wrote chapter one, so here we all are. I'm pretty sure I be just as confused and frustrated as you all are. My fingers type and I read it back (quick side note: I write this and read it without a beta reader, so apologies for any typos and thanks, because I guess you are all my beta readers) and I think 'OK, so that's where we went. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.'
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this and if you want to vent, scream out your frustration, say something kind or just leave some feedback, don't be shy! Leave a little comment or kudos. I'm kind, I promise, and I really enjoy hearing your thoughts. It's interesting hearing other peoples' perspectives - and yes, I agree that Anne = Dumb, but she is my brain-child and I suppose the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree ;) 
> 
> Thanks for all the support, lovely humans! (And thanks to Lela (dianawithaj) for the little twitter plug! If you are here because of her, I hope you are enjoying this and thanks for clicking that link!) x
> 
> PS. I heard a song that reminded me of Shirbert! It's called 'Honeybee' by The Head and The Heart and it's really sweet, with super accurate lyrics, right down to an ill-advised almost proposal. Let me know if you listen to it and think of them too!


	9. “Just your heart, in exchange for mine” Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne struggles with deciphering her feelings after Gilbert's declaration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, fic friends!  
> I hope everyone is well!  
> Starting this chapter off with a huge thank you for all the positive feedback I received on part 8! It was very overwhelming and extremely kind. Kudos to you all!
> 
> Can you believe we're on the penultimate chapter already? This chapter title is from the wonderful 'Stardust' by Neil Gaiman. It's my favourite book.  
> I hope you all enjoy it! x

The living room was dark, the only light emanating from the glow of the television, the credits for _The Office US_ illuminating the two figures cuddled on the sofa. Bash smiled down at the woman by his side, her eyes closed and mouth gaping open. If she woke up with drool dried to her cheek and flushed over his seeing her asleep like that, he would lie and say he didn’t notice but to him she looked perfect and peaceful.

He stretched, carefully removing the arm he had wrapped around her so as to not disturb her from her sleep. He should have known that she would have drifted off; she was yawning two episodes ago but when he paused the TV and suggested they probably should call it a night, she insisted on one more. And how could he refuse her, especially when she indulged him with her best Prison Mike impersonation, both of them giggling like teenagers, tears in their eyes.

He loved their evenings like this; after spending a long evening bundled in puffy coats and winter hats on the beach with Dellie, skipping stones into the water, they were able to come home and relax, cuddle together on the sofa and allow themselves to be shrouded in this semblance of domesticity they had created. Dellie slept easily for him tonight, the sea air leaving her tired and, as Gilbert was out for the night, they had ordered in Thai food and Muriel stayed later than usual to catch up on some Netflix with him. He was glad to have found her; she knew the guilt of moving on after a bereavement better than anyone else he knew, being widowed young herself, and he found they were able to talk openly about it. They never skirted around the guilt and the grief and he felt bolstered by having someone who understood what it felt like in his corner. The first night he told her about his fears of what people would think (Was it too soon? Was he a bad father for inviting someone else into his daughter’s life?) she had held him close and waited until the crying stopped before whispering, “Love is not quantifiable and therefore not finite. This doesn’t have to be a one or the other situation. I will never stop loving my Jonah, like I’m sure you won’t ever stop loving Mary. We don’t have to love them less; we just need to open our hearts up to love a little more. There’s always room for more love, my darling.”

And that was the night he knew he was capable of loving someone else; that he loved Muriel, right down to her tan oxford shoes. He ambled home, his heart feeling lighter than it had in months; a widowed thirty-three-year-old with a rambunctious toddler and a hapless eighteen-year-old wasn’t really that attractive a prospect to many women but to her it was gold dust – a ready-made family; something she lacked. She was always worried she would never have children, believing that teaching her students would be the only opportunity she may have to care for a child, but there she was, as close to a mother figure as his little girl may know (although she would know her own mother; he would make sure of that) and was always armed with a light-hearted joke or comforting word when Gilbert needed it. He had walked into his house and sought out his favourite picture of Mary, the one of her laughing on their wedding day after Bash had swung her into the air and he told her, his voice hushed and low, how he had met someone new and hoped she wouldn’t be angry at him; how much he loved her still, his heart aching for her every day when he looked at their daughter, or watched Gilbert peruse her book of recipes that still sat pride of place on the shelf by the cooker in their kitchen. And as he whispered to her beautiful, smiling face, a brown butterfly settled on the windowsill, it’s little wings beating elegantly in swift, fluid movements. And he waved at it; she always thought butterflies lucky. He knew then, a sign from his angel, that she was happy. She was happy that he let himself be happy again.

He flexed his fingers and rummaged for the remote amongst the cushions on the sofa, eventually curling his fingers around it and switching the TV off, the room plunged into darkness. He wandered through the silent gloominess of the house towards the press, pulling a freshly laundered blanket from it. He threw it over the sleeping figure on the sofa, curled up like a baby on her side and went to remove her shoes. He laughed softly at her gentle snores. She had just broken her own cardinal rule; that as long as she was one of Gilbert Blythe’s teachers she would NOT (“And I’m serious about this, Bash. I wouldn’t want to upset him,” she had dictated to him back in November) be staying the night. It looked like she would be tonight.

A rattle of keys at the front door brought Bash out of his thoughts and back into the room. He glanced at the clock ticking quietly on the mantlepiece; it was only half twelve. He wasn’t expecting Gilbert for at least another hour or two, especially as it was his big date-night with Anne. He shook his head, grinning at the thought of how the two of them had danced around each other for so long; at Gilbert’s frantic, wide-eyed head shakes when Bash tried to get him to compliment Anne in front of her (“She’s a good-looking girl, eh, Blythe?” he would chuckle and Gilbert would turn bright red and look anywhere but at Anne, mumbling “Uhm, yeah.”) or how he had caught Anne staring at Gilbert when he had entered the kitchen after a shower, towelling his hair, the expanse of muscle in his abdominals still exposed, clutching the towel to his chest when he realised she was there, croaking out a strangled, “I’ll be back in a minute,” before fleeing from the room and returning dressed in the baggiest hoodie he could find. They were disastrous and Bash got too much enjoyment from watching their stilted conversation when they stumbled into unfamiliar territory or how a flush would bloom from Gilbert’s collarbones, up his neck and right to the tip of his ears, tinging the skin there strawberry red, when the summer time came around again and Anne took _that_ dress out of retirement; the 40’s style one that dipped low into a sweetheart neckline and was covered in pretty blue blooms, exposing the ivory skin of her chest, smattered with freckles.

He padded barefoot through the hall to catch Gilbert shutting the door behind him, leaning into it a moment and heaving a deep breath. There was a slope to his shoulders, a dejectedness about him that Bash had never seen before. He was exactly the opposite of the happy boy that skipped from the kitchen a matter of hours ago, bubbling with nervous energy from the prospect of a date with a girl he had been in love with for as long as he could remember.

“You’re home early,” Bash said, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms. Gilbert shrugged.

“Yeah, well.”

“How did it go?” Bash asked but automatically regretted it. It didn’t go well. Of course, it didn’t. That was why he was home early, sloping past Bash into the hallway with his head ducked from Bash’s view in an attempt to hide the glistening skin; wet from where his tears had trailed.

“What happened, kid?” Bash questioned gently, following Gilbert down the hallway. He didn’t answer, instead he stilled at the foot of the stairs; his hand grasped at the banister, knuckles white with the strength of his grip, and he bit painfully into his bottom lip, a poor attempt to prevent it from wobbling. Bash felt a wave of anxiety roll in his stomach before sickening worry flooded him, rapidly filling his chest and causing a spike to his heart rate. What had happened tonight?

“Blythe, you’re worrying me. What’s happened?” he pleaded, the protective parent in him dominating the teasing older brother. “Is it Anne? Is she ok?”

Gilbert screwed his eyes shut tightly and clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle a heavy sob, sinking onto the bottom stair.

“What am I going to do without her?” he choked, his shoulders heaving with the ferocity of the sobs that ripped through his body. Bash sat next to him, winding an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close into a tight hug. He forgot sometimes just how young Gilbert was. He was always so mature; the one in their house who set reminders to book six month check-ups at the dentist and took the time to write out shopping lists, meticulously scouring the cupboards to ensure he hadn’t forgotten any of Dellie’s favourite snacks; but it was times like now, when he was bundled up in Bash’s arms crying, that Bash remembered he was only on a teenager; a boy on the cusp of manhood. He still had a lot to learn and heartbreak was a lesson that Bash had always wished he would never have to experience.

“Hey, now. Whatever happened - it can’t have been so bad that you’ll never speak again,” Bash soothed, rubbing circles onto his back.

“It was pretty bad,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from crying. “I screwed everything up.” He stuttered between shuddering breaths; his voice muffled into the shoulder of Bash’s sweatshirt.

“Tell me what happened.”

Gilbert drew away, huffing out a breathy laugh and forcing his face into a tight smile that never met his eyes; the golden twinkle in them extinguished, replaced by a dull brown and murky grey.

“It wasn’t a date,” he said plainly but he clamped his lips together to quell another surge of tears.

“What was it then?” Bash prompted, knowing he was better to talk about it than keep it shut up inside him. Big emotions like that needed to be let go; wailed from the cliff edge and carried away by the wind, swirling out to sea.

“I mixed it up. She was going with _Roy._ I - I’m so stupid,” he mumbled and his shoulders shook with a breath that he drew in; coarse and deep, rattling with emotion. “I should’ve known better.”

“You thought what you thought. That wasn’t your fault.” Bash pulled him in for a hug again, the two of them sitting side by side on the bottom stair. Gilbert rubbed his nose, sniffing as his tears silently rolled down his face and dripped from his chin, creating a wet spot on the shirt he had spent so long picking out. When he thought about it now, he felt ridiculous; sprinting home and waltzing into the kitchen, dizzy with elation, like his numbers had just been drawn from the lottery and he was an overnight millionaire. Why would she ever have been impressed by him when Roy was around? What was he really expecting her to say when he let his longest secret free; when the words bounced around the room and she stayed silent and he wished he could swallow them back up and pretend it never happened? They were too far gone now; it was irreparable. There was a deep chasm between them where his love lived; he gave it away and she didn’t want it. It would be the thing that separated them now, her on one side and him on the other.

“She knows, you know,” he sniffed. “I told her tonight.”

“You told her? Like - that you love her?” Bash was impressed. He was expecting a tentative brushing of hands and maybe a slow dance followed by Gilbert bounding into the kitchen and proclaiming he had the best night of his life. Not for him to let her know he was in love with her at the very first opportunity he got. He was a lot gutsier than Bash had given him credit for. 

“Yes.” Gilbert shrugged sadly. “She doesn’t feel the same…obviously. But, you know, for a minute I thought she might have. I mean, when I kissed her she didn’t…”

“Hold on there a moment!” Bash interrupted. “Well, you left that little detail out. You kissed her?”

Gilbert chuckled hollowly, shaking his head at Bash’s enthusiasm. “Yes. And she kissed me back. _Me!_ Willingly - and then clammed up when Gardner arrived. So, I left. She made her choice. I’m not it.”

“I’m sorry about that, Blythe,” Bash consoled, his own heart cracking at the broken boy in front of him; this boy he loved like the brother he never had growing up, like a son. “What now?”

“Now, I just get on with it. I can fall out of love with her; I fell into it easy enough.” Bash covered his hand with his own and squeezed it lightly. Gilbert smiled shakily at him; a tight, sad little smile that attempted to mask his heartbreak; that tried to make him appear brave. “And if all else fails, maybe I’ll join the monastery after all.”

Bash chuckled heartily. “A good lookin’ fella like you? I don’t think so!” He punched Gilbert lightly on the arm. “All’s not lost, Blythe. There’ll be another, you’ll see.”

Gilbert shook his head again, his teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “No, there won’t. Not for me.”

After a final hug, Bash stood and watched Gilbert trudge up the stairs, his gait heavy, weighed down with grief of losing his greatest love and friend all with one foolish kiss. Bash listened as his footsteps quietened and the door to his bedroom snapped shut.

When Gilbert reached the sanctuary of his bedroom, he felt drained; devoid of all emotion. He dragged his shirt from his body, tossing the absurd piece of teal blue material to the ground. He pulled on a comfy hoodie instead, peeling his jeans off and replacing them with sweatpants. And then he let himself fall into bed, curling under his duvet and allowing the events of the night to wash over him and seep into his soul. Hot tears welled at his eyes again and he let them fall, pushing his hands deep into his hair and staring at his ceiling; the taste of salt on his lips. He felt like a child who had just lost their comfort blanket, distraught at it being missing even though they had thrown it from their pram. He felt like someone standing firmly on the floor before a trapdoor was pulled beneath their feet; falling from the precipice into a dark void with no light at the end. He didn’t know where he would land and he was scared. Anne had _been_ his comfort blanket; she was the only consistent thing in his life since he was twelve years old; there to hug him during his father’s diagnosis. Bringing them dinner when his dad was weak from his latest round of chemotherapy and Gilbert was too tired to cook. She was a listening ear when Mary was diagnosed with cancer not two years after his dad’s death, an event he never recovered from, and he worried about having to relive the treatment and the illness and the grief all over again. She held him when the world was overwhelming and he was unsure of his next step. But she wouldn’t hold him again.

Loving her had been the easiest thing he had ever done but learning how to not love her would probably be the hardest. But he would have to try. He deserved to be happy and this wasn’t making him happy anymore. It hurt more than he could verbalise; she had struck him through the heart with a dagger and twisted the shaft, leaving him cold and alone on the floor to bleed out.

**********

Anne woke with a start early the next morning. She stretched out her arms in front of her and checked the time on her clock. It was only five thirty, much too early to do what she needed to do today. She flopped back amongst her pillows staring up at the stars that peppered her ceiling, still glowing a pale yellow in the early morning gloom, a sad smile playing on her lips when she remembered Gilbert begrudgingly taking them out of her hands and clambering onto her bed to stick them up, grumbling about how she was too short and would kill herself attempting to climb on every piece of furniture in her room. She was five foot four, average really, but she allowed him to glue them to the ceiling, stealing stealthy glances at him to admire the smooth muscle that peeked out from the hem of his t-shirt when he stretched upwards; the breadth of his shoulders and how his body curved into a narrow waist. And afterwards they lay side by side on her bed with the lights off, staring up at the display, her laughing as he pointed to clusters of plastic stars as though they were constellations.

“Oh, look! There’s the Belt of Orion. Do you see it?”

And she giggled and answered, “I do! Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is.” And something about his soft, whispering voice drew her attention to him and she found he was staring at her, a warm glow to his eyes that made her blush. Something she knew only now must have been love. It was always love; the funny look he gave her when they began their book club; the honey gold hue when they danced at Josie’s birthday; the soft crinkle to the edges of his eyes that made her skin tingle when she went to his house with a peace-offering after their fall out.

She felt her mouth twist again, pressing her lips together tightly to hold back the fresh wave of emotion that battled to break free. This wasn’t a fall out, a silly little argument that sprouted from her bad temper and his stubbornness; she had lost him. She couldn’t arrive at his house with a new book and an apology to make everything better. She had to give him space; allow him to breath and to heal without her. And then he wouldn’t need her after that. He would probably meet someone new; someone who deserved his love and knew what to do with it. Maybe he would end up with Winnifred; she was beautiful and they enjoyed spending time together. Maybe she would be the one who could make him happy.

Anne pressed a hand to her heart, a quiet sob gasping from her as the dam broke and her tears began to fall in a silent, steady stream. She hated the thought of him with someone else; someone else having his heart. She remembered how she felt when Diana had told her about him confessing his love for her; how she wondered what it would feel like to be the girl who stole Gilbert Blythe’s heart. But it had been her; she had stolen it and she didn’t need to wonder what it felt like anymore; it was horrendous; it was confusing and painful, a sharp stabbing pain to her heart when she thought about how freely he gave his away and how she foolishly rejected it. And yet it was elating; a warm, comforting feeling in her belly that spread through her. It made her feel safe; his heart felt like _home_. She couldn’t process her feelings when it came to him, all her feelings mingling together into an indecipherable explosion; he had been a steady friend she had a crush on, not allowing herself to feel anything more because of her loyalty to Diana but she had been wrong about Diana too. She had been wrong about so much and until she could see everything for what it was, a stark, bright light illuminating all the misunderstandings she had made, there was no way she would be able to reach the other end of this. She wasn’t even sure what she would find at the other end; if she would find Gilbert, willing to forgive her for the damage she caused.

There was so much of him in her room, she realised. He had put the nails in the wall that hung her prints. He had bought her the vase that sat atop her bedside cabinet and he was the one that made the dreamcatcher that hung in her window. She had stood over him while he did it, of course. She couldn’t have let him make it without some guidance but she loved it so much when it was completed that he strung it onto the curtain pole, grinning and declaring, “Now! You’ll never have a nightmare again.”

And she hadn’t. Not even that dream she had a few months back; the one that made her feel like her life was turning upside down. The first time she left herself entertain the idea that she may have liked him. But his kiss was better than she had even dreamt. She blushed furiously at the thought of it; her hurried steps as he pushed her backwards, the heat that swirled in her stomach at their argument exploding and engulfing her completely when his lips met hers for the first time. She groaned, covering her face with her hands.

She felt guilty and confused and upset; each emotion battling to be the dominant one, the turmoil of it all causing her lip to tremble.

 _‘When did this all get so confused?’_ she wondered. When had his friendship turned to love? She had told him everything; he knew her inside out, all the ugly, silly parts of her that she would never share with anyone else. Her life before the Cuthberts, how moody she was when she had PMS, how mournfully she cried when One Direction split up. He knew it all and he loved her anyway. It couldn’t be right. She wasn’t _loveable_ but she was loved by him. She wasn’t _beautiful_ but he thought her that too. When she allowed her mind to travel back through their friendship she felt so foolish that she had never noticed it before; the gentle looks that made her skin flush, how he weaved their fingers together and studied them as if they were a Michelangelo masterpiece if ever she took his hand. She remembered how flustered she was as she ripped his hand from her hair when he had pinned her to the counter before Christmas and she thought he was going to kiss her. She was probably right, she realised with a pang of embarrassment. How that must have hurt him. She would never forget the look on his face as he left yesterday; his lips set tight, twisted into a sad smile. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? She wasn’t sure what love felt like but she had read about it often enough and realised that you needed a ‘just know’ moment. He was too important to her for her to allow herself to enter into something on a maybe; heady and passionate and new, only for it to fizzle out later leaving both of them broken hearted. He deserved better than that. 

Her alarm jingled noisily and she reached out, striking her clock sharply to quiet the incessant ringing before hauling herself upwards and rubbing at her puffy eyes. She had had a restless sleep but she knew she needed answers this morning and she knew who would have them.

It was seven thirty when she arrived at Diana’s house but she knew she would be up. The Barry’s were early risers and Anne arrived just in time to catch Mr Barry stretching at the front door in preparation for his morning run.

“Anne! You’re over early this morning.”

“Morning, Mr Barry. Is Diana up?”

Mr Barry had let Anne into the house, instructing Anne to head straight upstairs to Diana’s room. Anne knocked lightly at the door before letting herself in. Diana was sitting at her dressing table, brushing through her dark, glossy hair, looking as fresh as a daisy despite being highly intoxicated the night before. She grinned at Anne as she entered.

“Well, hello there. You look terrible,” Diana laughed, watching Anne in the mirror. She spun on the stool of her dressing table, twisting her body towards Anne and eying her suspiciously, taking in her dishevelled appearance; lumpy clothing and messy braids, her eyes swollen and her skin blotched from tears. “Are you alright?”

“No Diana, I’m not.” Anne dropped onto Diana’s bed, covering her face with her hands to muffle the low rumble of groan. “I messed everything up.”

“What have you messed up? From what I could tell things between you and Roy looked pretty _friendly_ yesterday,” Diana said lightly, moving gracefully across the room to lie beside Anne. But Anne didn’t want to talk about Roy, not today. She needed answers.

“Are you going out with Gilbert?” she blurted, Diana snapping into a sitting position with shock.

“ _Gilbert?”_

“Yes. Diana, is he the one you’ve been dating?”

“No,” Diana laughed. “Whatever gave you that idea? You watched Jerry leave here!”

It was Anne’s turn to be shocked, pulling her hands from her face, eyes wide with surprise. “Jerry?”

“Yes.”

Anne’s head felt addled with this new information; that girl, the girl who had hurt Jerry – who made him feel unworthy and unlovable – it had been Diana? Her Diana, her closest and most precious friend. Her head reeled; how was she capable of being so cruel; of making someone feel so small?

“No,” she choked dumbly. “It can’t have been Jerry.”

“Well, it is,” Diana laughed again, perplexed at Anne’s appearance and behaviour; unsure what had her at her house so early on a Sunday morning stuttering about Gilbert and Jerry. “Or it _was_ …”

Anne’s eyes snapped to Diana’s as a pretty blush coloured Diana’s cheeks. “What do you mean it _was?”_

Diana cupped her mouth, giggling brightly, her eyes sparkling at the memory of the night before.

“Anne, Fred kissed me last night. Can you believe it? He’s liked me for months but he was never brave enough to tell me before and I told him I was the same! I can’t believe it. He’s so funny, Anne, and he treats me so well.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Anne snapped, fury coursing through her. Who did Diana think she was? She wasn’t allowed a frilly fairy-tale ending after she had treated Jerry so horrendously. _Had she even told him that they were over?_ Anne wondered, narrowing her eyes at Diana.

“What do you mean?”

“Diana, how could you do this to Jerry? He told me all about you; how horrible you’ve been to him! Why did you never tell us about him? Or let him meet your parents? Are you embarrassed of him?”

“No…,” Diana began.

“Well, why did you act like he’s some dirty little secret? He’s really hurt Diana; I’ve never seen him like that before. He came to talk to me about a girl who was being cruel but never in a million years did I think he was describing my truest friend! How could you treat him like that?” Anne exploded, pushing herself of the bed.

“It didn’t mean anything. It never did and he knew that. We had rules, Anne,” Diana explained heatedly.

“Rules?” Anne shot, laughing a quick, hollow laugh. “How can kissing someone repeatedly; having _sex_ with someone, not mean anything, Diana?”

“It didn’t! It was just for fun. He knew that!”

“He fell in _love_ with you,” Anne argued, pushing her hands into her hair and tugging with frustration.

“I didn’t _ask_ him to,” Diana shot, swallowing back the swelling she felt in her throat. They never argued, her and Anne; they were kindred spirits, always level-headed with their disagreements, seeing things eye to eye. She had never seen Anne so furious before, face flushed as red as her hair, her eyes cold with condemnation. “See, that’s where we differ Anne. You see everything like the world is a bloody Jane Austen novel; like happy endings are something that everyone gets, but we don’t! They’re not real, Anne!”

“I know they’re not real!” Anne exclaimed, pushing her hands into her eyes to attempt to push back the prickle of fresh, angry tears she felt begin to spurt. She was tired of crying; tired of feeling so out of control of her own emotions. “Trust me, I do. And I may have a different view of romance than you, Diana, but I don’t think that excuses the fact that _you_ have been stringing Jerry along for _months_ , playing your sordid little games on him and trampling over him when you’re finished fooling around!”

Diana huffed out a mirthless laugh. “How hypocritical is that!” she shot angrily, getting to her feet and squaring her shoulders at Anne, hot tears stinging her eyes. Anne felt the fight in her falter; she wasn’t sure where their argument was going but it made her feel uneasy, a queasiness settling in her stomach.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice dull and listless, drained from her tears and their argument.

“You act like you haven’t been doing the same thing for _years,_ Anne,” Diana hissed, “with Gilbert. He’s been in love with you since you came to Avonlea and you have toyed with him all these years, flirting and making him think he had a chance, just to throw him aside when someone new came along. So, don’t you dare get on your high horse about how I treat people, Anne. You’ve been doing it too; a lot longer than I have. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

Anne felt a rush of cold fury wash over her; icy anger at what Diana was insinuating. She hadn’t _known_ Gilbert had felt that way about her. She had never played with his feelings; that would have been unfair. Diana jutted out her chin and folded her arms across her chest, eyeing Anne stonily. Anne stared back; her mouth slack when she realised Diana knew. She had _known_ how Gilbert had felt all these years and hadn’t told her; had never thought to draw her aside and let her know she thought he was catching feelings. If she had have known she would have been able to put a stop to it; she would have been able to forewarn him that she may not have felt the same. Or she may have allowed herself to analyse what she felt and realise she did, in fact, love him too. Instead, she had spent months squashing down any inkling of feelings for him for the sake of her friendship with Diana, until they were so repressed she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. She narrowed her eyes at Diana. Why had she never seen it before; how she played with people; Jerry, Gilbert, _her._ She was supposed to be Anne’s best friend but Anne wasn’t sure she recognised her anymore. There was a side of her that she had never seen before; that she didn’t like.

“I’m going to go,” she declared, striding to the door.

“Good. And please don’t come back,” Diana snapped.

“I wasn’t planning to!” Anne flung the door open and strode into the hall, fighting her urge to glance back at Diana. She thudded down the stairs and out into the crisp morning air, crunching up the gravel path and back home.

She couldn’t believe that it had been Jerry hiding in the upstairs bedroom that day she stumbled across them, desperate for instructions on how to get Roy to like her. Her heart ached for Jerry, her body still simmering with anger at how Diana had treated him. Well, at least she had some truth now, she thought to herself. She knew that it wasn’t Gilbert in her room that day. It had never been him. All the glances she thought they had shared and the images her mind would conjure up of the two of them kissing or holding hands had been the result of her foolish little brain adding two and two together and making five. She had created the whole romance herself and tortured herself with guilt at how she felt when he looked at her a beat too long. But last night he had told her the truth, even though she doubted him still. He had never been with Diana and that knowledge sparked something in her chest; something that sang like a lark and beat like the wings of a hummingbird. Something like hope. But Anne wasn’t sure why.

**********

Gilbert Blythe was living through one of the longest weeks of his life. And it was only Monday afternoon. Monday had come around a little too quickly for him and his pleads for a sick day fell on deaf ears, Bash standing in the kitchen stirring at a bowl of porridge for Dellie and shaking his head adamantly, sighing, “No, Blythe. The other kids’ parents don’t date your teacher. What would Muriel say?”

But Gilbert wasn’t too sure Muriel would mind at all. The day before she had made him breakfast, pancakes with a double helping of syrup and padded the sofa with pillows and a cosy blanket for him to wallow in, bringing him copious cups of hot chocolate and chocolate digestives that she claimed were “good for the heart.” He knew they weren’t; he was fully aware how cholesterol worked but he was too drained to argue and grateful for her attentiveness. She took Dellie by the hand and led her out of the living room, turning the channel to something more serious when she noticed Gilbert get teary eyed at the film Dellie had been watching; trying his hardest to swallow back his tears when Flynn and Rapunzel let their lantern float into the sky, Dellie’s sweet voice warbling along with their duet. She took Dellie for a walk to get supplies and came back with a huge bar of chocolate that she slipped to him with a wink.

“Are you trying to fatten me up?” he asked, sarcastically.

“It wouldn’t do you any harm,” Bash had teased but Muriel had tutted and swiped at him, turning to Gilbert with a smile.

“It’s like you’ve never watched _Legally Blonde_ before,” she grinned. “This is what you’re supposed to do. Drown your sorrows in sugar, followed by world domination.” And just to prove her point, they did watch it; all four of them snuggled in front of the TV, Dellie dozing against Bash’s chest. Gilbert was thankful for them; this haphazard little family who provided him with constant support and noise and snacks as a distraction from the storm that was raging inside of him.

He hugged Bash and Muriel on Sunday night, just as Muriel was slipping into her coat to go home.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a mess,” he apologised, his cheeks flushing at the memory of him collapsing on the stairs the night before and weeping like a baby; of crying at a Disney cartoon in front of his teacher.

Bash hugged him close again and murmured to him, “Blythe, don’t be apologising for anything. It was a blow you weren’t expecting. You’re allowed to be upset about it.”

“Not so dramatically though,” he laughed dryly.

“Hey, Mister Say-No-to-Toxic-Masculinity, boys are allowed to cry. I thought you knew that,” Muriel had exclaimed.

“I do. But so pathetically?” Bash had laughed and ruffled his hair, joking about how he was just the littlest bit pathetic and Muriel had patted him gently on the shoulder, squeezing slightly.

“What’s meant to be will be, Gilbert,” she reassured him before she left.

She was such a good addition to their family; caring and funny and understanding. And he _knew_ she would appreciate his need to take a few days off from school but his arguments were in vain; Bash wasn’t relenting and so he found himself getting ready for school; dragging himself into a sweatshirt and jeans, buttoning up his plaid, red coat and heading to the door 10 minutes earlier than necessary.

If he _had_ to go to school today, then he would do absolutely everything in his power to ensure that he didn’t see _her_. And that meant passing Green Gables a few minutes earlier than usual so he wouldn’t meet her at the gate. This was his new normal; little changes to his routine now that she wasn’t in his life anymore. As he strode down the path towards school, his hands tucked into his pockets and his headphones on, he reflected on the countless mornings he overslept and forewent breakfast just to make sure he was there at her gate at eight thirty sharp, leaning against the white picket fence as she emerged from the house and smiled that brilliant, bright smile at him. He clenched his fists at the tremor of hurt that flashed across his chest. Oh God, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could feel like this.

He was nervous as he neared Green Gables; the house that became much like another home to him, the heart inside it that was his home. He felt himself speed up as he walked towards the large white house with the dark green trimmings, allowing his legs to carry him as quickly as they could but he stopped abruptly, feet faltering and his hand shooting to the back of his neck, brushing against the short, dark curls there; curls that knew the feeling of her fingers tangled in them, he remembered with a blush.

There she was; bustling through the garden and closing the gate behind her, just a few steps ahead of him. His eyes darted around eyeing for somewhere, anywhere, he could hide before she noticed him but he was too late. She was standing a few feet ahead of him, watching him nervously, her hands wringing together. _This wasn’t fair_ , he thought. _She doesn’t get to look like the one who had her heart ripped out and stamped on._

“Hi,” she ventured, a timid smile quirking her lips. He felt his jaw clench, anger simmer in his belly at her attempt to act as though they were still friends; as though nothing had changed.

“Hello,” he answered tightly.

“You’re here early,” she garbled, grasping at anything to fill the awkward silence between them, crackling with uncomfortable tension. He swallowed thickly.

“I was trying to avoid you.”

“Oh…”

She eyed the ground, toeing lightly at the pavement with those stupid, scuffed combat boots that he loved her in.

“What are you doing, Anne?” he asked tersely. This was ridiculous, this rigmarole of pretending they were something they weren’t, her making awkward conversation as though he hadn’t told her he loved her unrequitedly in her bedroom, in the very house they were standing outside of, just two days before. They were so far past being friends now, the thought of which made his heart ache.

“I’m just trying to be friendly,” she replied pathetically.

He huffed out a sharp, breathy laugh, shaking his head as his eyes narrowed at her. “Ha. I don’t want to be friendly, Anne. I don’t want your friendship.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, well. It’s a little too late for anyone to be sorry now. What’s done is done.”

“Yes, but Gil, I am. I never knew…”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me, Anne.” His voice was low, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he eyed her; the glassy look to her eyes. She looked hurt; he had hurt her. He wished he could take it all back but that was impossible. They would both be at the loss of a wonderful friendship but she would replace him easily enough; she had Roy.

“I’m confused, Gil – I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how I feel!” She watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. He looked different than usual; like the fire in him had been extinguished. His eyes were a dull grey instead of their regular honeyed hazel and his mouth was set into a sharp line, replacing the twisted, teasing smile that usually adorned his handsome face. Had she done that to him? Killed the light in his eyes and stolen the smile from his lips? She inhaled deeply, biting down on her bottom lip to prevent it from wobbling.

“Well, I don’t want to be some sort of experiment for you to figure yourself out with, Anne. I hope you and Gardner will be really happy together.” And he turned on his heel, striding away from her. She felt a rush of anger at the spite dripping from his voice.

“We will be,” she shot at his retreating back. “He loves me!”

Gilbert spun towards her again, his eyes flashing with anger, like forks of lightning in an electric storm. “Oh, yeah? And he told you that?”

“Well, no but…”

“So how are you sure?”

She gulped back, his body nearing her again; one step, another, like he was prowling towards her ready to catch her in a trap. “He – he wrote me a note. He pinned it to the board,” Anne admitted and felt herself burn with embarrassment when he scoffed at her pathetic reasoning.

“Oh, God, you’re so frustrating sometimes,” he cried, dragging his hands through his hair roughly. She felt her legs weaken; her knees buckle at the earnest look on his face; the feeling that she was about to be made aware of something else that she had misinterpreted making her stomach bubble uncomfortably.

“What do you mean?”

“That was me, Anne!” 

“No…”

“Yes,” he insisted and she felt dizzied by this new information.

“But it said, ‘With love’,” she argued naively. “The same as the - the inscription in the box with my pen.”

His eyes softened momentarily, sparkled with their golden flecks as he watched her mind slot together puzzle pieces that never had never quite matched before but fit together perfectly now. She had thought that Roy had bought her the pen; the gift he had spent months searching for. Her eyes met his, her mouth falling open with shock. “That was you, too.”

He shrugged defeatedly and nodded, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. “What can I say, Anne? I’ve been a fan for a while.”

She shook her head, rendered speechless by this new revelation; these romantic gestures she thought had come from Roy, that she had fooled herself into thinking meant he had felt the same about her as she had for him. But Roy must have felt the same. He had kissed her, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he fought Billy Andrews for her? This mess was becoming more and more confusing.

Gilbert retreated back a few steps, mumbling, “Look, there’s no point in talking about this. I think we both know we’re done here.” And with one last glance at her, he strode across the street and disappeared down the path on the opposite side, taking the longer route to school and ignoring her calls to wait.

Which meant, of course, he arrived late, met in the hallway by a spiteful Mr Phillips who wrote him up a detention slip for being tardy and lectured on the importance of punctuality. Gilbert accepted the note through gritted teeth, firing a hasty text to Winnie to explain that he wouldn’t be at Dr Ward’s office after school.

And when he entered English, mumbling an apology to Ms Stacy, he noticed eyes on him, voices whispering and smirking at him as he dropped into his seat.

“What’s happened?” he hissed to Moody confusedly. “Why is everyone looking at me?”

Moody cleared his throat gruffly. “Uhm, well – Mrs Lynde…”

Gilbert groaned, burying his head into his hands. Well, wasn’t that just fucking fantastic! His classmates all knew about his heart break now, all because Mrs Lynde was a busybody who couldn’t keep her nose out of everyone else’s business. He was expecting it of course, she had a keen ear for gossip and would have relished in how easy he and Anne had made it for her to eavesdrop, raising their voices, but news spread in Avonlea High School like a gorse fire; catching quickly and burning all life around it. The whole school would know by the bell at the end of the day.

He struggled through the morning, ignoring Billy’s taunts of, “How much of a loser do you have to be that even _that_ ugly orphan doesn't want you.” Gilbert felt his fingers flex; that same spasm firing through him that he had felt the last time Billy had spoken about Anne so degradingly and history repeated itself, Gilbert’s fist connecting with Billy’s brow bone once more; Charlie and Moody dragging the two flailing boys off each other, Billy howling with pain. That had earned him a second detention, Ms Stacy pleading with Mr Phillips that Bash didn’t need to be contacted because the attack had been provoked.

And finally, two disciplinaries and a bruised fist later, the lunch bell clanged and he was finally able to get some more information from Moody about exactly what tale Mrs Lynde had been spreading. She had a flair for the dramatic so her version of events may have been very far removed from the truth.

“Mum met her on Sunday getting some groceries. She told her that you and Anne fought and that you shouted at her that you loved her. Well, I was _shocked._ You never said anything before. But Mrs Lynde told mum that Anne didn’t feel the same; that you looked like _death itself_ when you left. And then mum told me and I told Ruby. And Ruby told her mum but she already knew.”

Gilbert groaned. “How many do you reckon know?” he asked.

“I’d say probably everyone. Ruby’s mum told Mrs Barry and Tillie’s mum too. You know,” he chuckled flippantly, “nothing ever happens in Avonlea, so this is pretty big news.”

“It’s so embarrassing though. Imagine everyone knowing you struck out.”

“Well, everyone knew I struck out all the time,” Moody admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. And then a sly grin warped his features. “Not on Saturday, though.”

Gilbert’s head shot up; his mouth open in surprise. “You and Ruby?”

Moody nodded excitedly. “I think she’s my girlfriend now,” he chortled, his chest puffing with pride. Gilbert grinned, clapping his hand to his shoulder.

“Moody, I’m so happy for you. I knew you guys would be perfect for each other!” And he was. It was the best news he had heard in a long time but the elation died in his chest quickly when he spotted her; red braids swinging as she wandered through the canteen and took a seat at a table with Ruby, Josie, Jane and Tillie, glancing darkly at Diana as she sat with them, her nose upturned and her lips pursed into a tight little pout. He bit at his nail distractedly before excusing himself from the table where Moody and Charlie chattered animatedly about Saturday night and plugging in his headphones to drown out the sniggering whispers about him; about how he loved a girl who didn’t love him back.

**********

The girls crowded around the table hanging off Ruby’s every word. How she realised she didn’t really like Gilbert after all; it was a childish fantasy that she couldn’t let go off but it had been Moody all along. Sweet, bumbling Moody, with his kind brown eyes and floppy hair.

“And he kissed me and asked if we could go steady,” Ruby explained, revelling in the attention from the girls and delighted that she was finally experiencing a love story of her own after sitting on the side-lines for so long. “Well, of course I said yes! And he kissed me. It was like a fairy-tale…”

She sighed dreamily, resting her chin in her hands and staring across the crowded canteen to where her new love sat, her eyes rounded like a puppy dog. Anne smiled softly; Ruby looked like herself again for the first time in ages; her blonde hair was arranged in her ringlet curls, her body dressed in a saccharine pink smock dress again, her trusty Mary-Janes back on her feet. She was comfortable in herself finally because there was someone who liked her just as she was.

“I heard you weren’t the only one who got a little action on Saturday night, Ruby,” Josie grinned. “Spill, Diana. You and _Fred Wright?”_

Tillie clapped excitedly, squeaking out an, “Ooh!.” Anne shifted uncomfortably in her seat, still simmering with white rage at how Diana had treated Jerry. Diana shot Anne a hasty glance, face paling.

“Well, yes. It was just a kiss,” she explained hurriedly, attempting to stamper out the conversation.

“I heard it was more than that,” Jane prompted. “I heard that there was a little confession of feelings too.”

“There might have been,” Diana answered diplomatically.

“But aren’t we ignoring the elephant in the room?” Josie added, shooting a sly, sidelong glance at Anne. “ _Gilbert Blythe?_ I am in shock!”

“You heard about that?” Anne mumbled.

“Anne, all of Avonlea has heard about it,” Tillie giggled. “It’ll be front page news in the _Avonlea Gazette_ tomorrow; ‘Future Doctor Declares Love – Crashes and Burns’.”

“Don’t be mean,” Anne shot, blushing bright red at their joking comments. “He was nothing but a perfect gentleman about the whole mess…I wasn’t expecting it at all.”

“Neither were we,” Josie conceded.

“He’s gorgeous though,” Jane interrupted. “Why in the world did you turn him down?”

“I don’t know…,” Anne admitted, pushing her lunch around her plate. She didn’t really have much of an appetite for it anymore. She scanned the canteen, eyes searching for his face; for those soft dark curls her hands had roamed through. Instead, her eyes met Diana’s questioning expression, her eyebrows jutting upwards at Anne’s admission. Anne cleared her throat and turned her attention to her friends again. “We’ve been friends for so long, it would be strange, you know. And I’m sort of seeing Roy, so I guess it would be unfair to him…”

Her justification died in her throat. Was she seeing Roy? They had kissed, yes. And they text occasionally and met up for coffees and to discuss books, but was she _dating_ him? Did he make her feel loved and wanted? Every romantic gesture she thought had come from him had been done by someone else; someone who made her blood rush through her body and her heart rate to spike like she was about to free-fall from a flying plane. She would need to talk to Roy, she realised. She needed to know where she stood with him; if she could be happy with him.

The girls continued to chatter around her; Ruby divulging a story about a conversation she had with Gilbert on Saturday night, him admitting he liked Anne and rushing off through the crowd to find her.

“All over that postcard too, Anne. Did you know it was him that wrote it? I was in disbelief, I must say. I really thought it had been Roy.”

**********

Anne was glad to see the end of the day; a rare occurrence for her because she loved school wholeheartedly. But a whole day of avoiding Gilbert (except for chemistry where they were paired together but he sat stoic and tight-lipped for the whole lesson) and freezing out Diana had been draining and she revelled in the warmth of home when she finally shut the door of Green Gables on the world.

“Hello, my loves,” she called out as she hung her coat on the hook by the door and wandered to the kitchen.

“Hello,” Marilla called back. Anne could hear her fussing around the kitchen; the clang of pots on the gas hob, a fork clinking against a ceramic mixing bowl.

“Hello, dear Anne,” another voice called and Anne rolled her eyes. She really didn’t want to speak to Mrs Lynde today, not after the gossip that she had spread. Anne’s heart ached for Gilbert; he liked to fly under the radar, avoiding anything too ostentatious that would lead him to be noticed. He would have been mortified at the gossip spilling from the rumour mill today, of which he was the main topic.

“How was school?” Marilla asked as Anne entered the kitchen. She buried her head in the fridge, searching for something cool to drink and settled on some apple juice, pouring herself a glass.

“Oh, fine. There was some news going around about me though,” she revealed, eyeing Mrs Lynde at the table. She stirred at the mixture in the bowl before her more vigorously, avoiding meeting Anne’s eye.

“What sort of news?” Marilla quizzed.

“Maybe Mrs Lynde would like to divulge, since I believe it was her who told everyone in the first place.”

“Oh, Rachel,” Marilla scolded. “You didn’t! I told you not to!”

Mrs Lynde huffed, dropping the fork into her mixture. “Well, I didn’t set out too, did I? Only I was speaking to Mrs Spurgeon and she informed me that Moody – sweet boy - has a new girlfriend; Ruby Gillis, if you could believe it. And I thought, I did, I can’t let her think she is the fount of all knowledge when I have some huge news myself and it came out before I could stop myself. Well, I dare say she was shocked!”

“I could well imagine,” Marilla grumbled. “You should learn to hold your tongue, Rachel, in affairs that are of no concern of yours.”

“She’s like a niece to me, isn’t she? And of course, I want to see her happy,” and turning to Anne, she gushed, “I want to see you so happy, dear.”

“Well, I make no claim to being happy today. Poor Gilbert; I’m sure is mortified,” Anne harrumphed, dropping into her seat at the table. “Not that, I’m only presuming. He’s not talking to me anymore.”

“Well, can you blame him? I’ve never heard a scene like it before. It was like something from a soap opera, happening right upstairs in this very house.” Mrs Lynde chuckled throatily, her cheeks glowing with the memory of the argument she overheard. “Of course, it did get very hushed afterwards; just the sound of some stumbling around…”

She began stirring at her mixture again, her eyebrow cocked at Anne. Anne flushed furiously, glancing between Mrs Lynde’s beaming face and Marilla’s; brow furrowed and skin white with surprise.

“He did kiss me, if that’s what you want to hear,” she groaned into her hands, covering her face from the two women staring at her.

“I knew he did, of course. I just wanted some confirmation,” Mrs Lynde admitted lightly.

“You are _not_ to tell people that,” Anne shot at her sharply. “Not a word.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” she reassured. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he Marilla? A chip of the old block, I would say.” And she turned back to Anne with wide eyes. “He was quite the dish in his day, John Blythe. Although Marilla would have told you all about that I’m sure.”

“Why would Marilla have told me…?” Anne glanced at her mother, who wore a dreamy smile, eyes clouded with ghosts from her past. “You and Gilbert’s _dad?”_

Marilla laughed, turning the ring on the hob down to a simmer and going about making three cups of tea, handing a cup to each woman around the table and settling into her chair with her own.

“Don’t look so shocked, Anne,” she laughed. “We were about you and Gilbert’s age and I loved him very much. But our lives took different paths; he joined the military and asked me to go with him but my mother was a melancholy woman after our Michael passed and I couldn’t have left Matthew. I wasn’t brave enough, in the end. I chose what I knew but I never stopped loving him. I didn’t see him again for years. And then there he was, back in Avonlea with Gilbert. He lived a rich life and he knew love. I knew Matthew and the garage and _you_ , eventually. Some people can fall in love but just aren’t meant to be when all is said and done,” she concluded sadly, staring into her cup.

“How do you know when you are meant to be?” Anne asked, her teeth worrying at her lip. “In books, characters always just _know_. If you don’t feel like that straight away, does it mean that you aren’t meant to be with that person?”

“Oh, pish posh,” Rachel flapped. “Not. At. All. My Thomas – Marilla can confirm, can’t you, Marilla? - Well, he chased me for years. I’m sure you can imagine, Anne – I’ve been fortunate enough to have maintained some of my girlish looks – that I was quite the catch in my prime. Oh, all the boys were after me. I had my picking and choosing of them.” She looked at Marilla for confirmation but Marilla only laughed heartily and rolled her eyes.

“And Thomas,” she continued, unflapped by Marilla’s reaction. “My Thomas loved me dearly for years. I was seeing someone else, of course. Marilla do you remember Jack Boulter?” And to Anne, “Tillie’s uncle. Moved to Toronto and married a hairdresser; lovely woman. But I thought I loved Jack. I was convinced and one day Thomas arrived to my doorstep with a bunch of peonies and told me he loved me, yet I sent him away. I was a silly little thing; convinced Jack was what I wanted. He had money and was flashy with it and I thought that’s what I liked. And then it wore thin. I saw through it; Jack was just a fantasy and my Thomas, well I love him so very much, even to this day.” Her eyes glowed and her cheeks blushed a sweet petal pink. She covered Anne’s hand with hers and patted it lightly. “So, the long and short of it is, I don’t believe in that ‘ _just knowing’_ thing. When you forget what’s in your head and focus on what’s in your heart, you’ll know.”

Anne smiled softly, sipping at her tea and feeling reassured by Mrs Lynde’s words. Her mind was still fogged with confusion over Gilbert; over their kiss and how it made her feel; how _he_ made her feel. But she still had Roy; who was sweet and who seemed to like her. He was who she had fantasised about since she was a little girl.

Mrs Lynde prodded at her, smiling mischievously. “So, spill the beans. Was he a good kisser?”

Anne and Marilla both choked on their tea; Marilla turning a bright shade of scarlet. Anne jumped to her feet, lifting her cup from the table.

“I’m going to finish this upstairs!” she declared and she fled from the kitchen and to the safety of her bedroom, closing the door on Mrs Lynde’s cackling and Marilla’s scolding her for being insensitive. She settled at her desk, lifting a discarded copy of _Stardust_ from among the clutter, leafing through the fine pages until she found the page marked with her bookmark; the blue butterfly bookmark she had thought all this time had been given to her from Gilbert. She allowed herself to get lost in the world of Wall; Tristran’s adventure’s and his true love for Yvaine, marred by what he believed was love for Victoria. Victoria; a fantasy with no substance. An infatuation with no grounding in his soul. Anne snapped the book shut; everything was striking her as a little too close for comfort, ringing with more truth than she would like to admit.

**********

Anne arranged to meet Roy in their usual place for coffee after school on Friday. The week had been long and tedious and she had felt impossibly lonely without speaking to Diana. She had even avoided Cole, knowing he would have forced the girls to sit down and talk everything through and, although Anne’s anger had simmered as she heard Diana speak about how happy she was with Fred, (she still loved her dearly; that was difficult for her to turn off) she was still riddled with hurt for Jerry and couldn’t forgive her for that. It had been much more difficult without Gilbert. Her plan to avoid him and allow him space became increasingly difficult given the amount of classes they shared or the amount of times she would pass him in the hall; staring into his face and longing for him to hold her gaze for a moment longer than necessary like he used to; that intense look that always made her blush. Instead his eyes roamed past her as though she wasn’t there; the subsequent ache in her heart new and unfamiliar to her. They had fought before, of course, but those were silly, meaningless little bouts of her temper and she always apologised afterwards, mumbling her sorry and watching his face quirk into his smile again; shouldering half the blame. She never deserved it; she never deserved him. But she wished she had him now; his steady friendship and his warming gaze; the comfort of his deep, honeyed voice and the brassy tinkle of his laughter.

Anne had insisted on buying her and Roy’s coffees to sweeten the interrogation she knew was about to happen; black with two sugars for Roy and a caramel latte with extra whipped cream for her, along with two freshly baked brownies, and they settled in their usual seats by the window.

“So,” Anne began, swirling at the cream on her drink before taking a sip.

“So…” Roy laughed nervously. “Why do I feel like I’m at a job interview?”

Anne smiled tightly at him, before gulping back. “Okay, I’m just going to come out and say it because there isn’t really too much point beating around the bush.”

Roy’s brow furrowed and his lips tightened into an anxious smile, although Anne thought it resembled more of a grimace. “Okay? You have me nervous now.”

“You didn’t write me the postcard pinned on the board, did you?” She didn’t need him to verbalise an answer; the confusion that masked his face was all the answer she needed. It hadn’t been him. Once again, Gilbert was telling the truth. “Or the fountain pen?”

“A fountain pen?” he laughed. “Anne, I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” she stared into her drink; the cream melting into unappealing looking blobs floating on the surface of her coffee. “It’s just, I think I’ve been really mixed up this whole time.”

“About a pen and a postcard?” he asked, quirking his eyebrow.

“Yes,” Anne admitted. She knew this sounded foolish but these little gestures had endeared him to her more; made her believe that he liked her too. And now she wasn’t so sure he ever did like her as much as she hoped. “Well, it’s just, I liked you, you know. And after you had fought Billy in school…”

“After I what?” Roy interrupted.

“The fight? With Billy Andrews?” Anne puzzled, but there was no pang of recognition on Roy’s face; no lightbulb flashing moment that had him nod in confirmation and allowed her to continue her conversation. “You did fight him, didn’t you?”

Roy shook his head. “Anne, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you getting me mixed up with someone else?” He laughed gently, rubbing his hands nervously on his jeans.

She stared at him as the reality of the situation dawned on her; she had been stumbling through the dark for so long, brushing the walls with her fingertips and she had finally found the light switch. Cole suggested it had been Gilbert that had fought him and she had laughed and insisted they were wrong. How coincidental it had been that he had appeared with a bruise the day after the fight; the blackened marks around his eye, tinged with a purplish red. How had she not realised before? Or had she just forced herself to believe her own narrative because she didn’t want to face the truth? Because she wanted it to be Roy?

Her hand clamped to her mouth; her eyes wide. “Gilbert..” she breathed. “It was Gilbert, wasn’t it?”

Roy shrugged. “Anne, I genuinely have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Do you like me?” she blurted and his face fell.

“Anne…” He swallowed, wetting his dry lips with his tongue. She watched as his face contorted; his brow furrow and his eyes shift as though he was looking for a response that she wanted to hear; something to soften the blow.

“It’s ok if you don’t,” she reassured him.

He nodded briefly before shaking his head “I - I _liked_ you, I swear. I’m sorry.”

“No. No don’t be sorry,” she rushed. “I think I forced myself onto you. Gosh, I’m such a little fool. I convinced myself it was you; that I could love you.”

“I think we’ve both been fooling ourselves for a long time,” Roy admitted, sipping contemplatively at his coffee.

“What do you mean?” she asked him.

“I think I’m in love, Anne. And I don’t want that to hurt you, and I didn’t mean it to happen, honest I didn’t.”

Anne stared at him, open mouthed. She had barely seen him with other girls; who could it have been? She was startled at how unbothered she was by his admission; how it felt as though she had been restrained, her hands in cuffs all this time and someone had just found the key and set her free. If she really liked him; if she cared about him romantically, it shouldn’t feel like that, should it?

“You’re in love?” she gasped, smothering an excited giggle with her hand. “Who is she?”

He laughed darkly at her shock and quirked his brow at her, his face lit up with his wolfish grin again, exposing his perfect teeth. “It’s not a she,” he said plainly.

Anne cupped her mouth. “Roy, I’m sorry. I feel awful, I didn’t know!”

“You weren’t to know, I didn’t say,” he reassured. “Don’t be upset, Anne. I liked you; I really did. God, that first day I saw you at the pier I thought you were the most beautiful person I had ever seen and you are beautiful, Anne. Don’t ever think otherwise. But I got closer to Cole and, I don’t know, I just sort of…fell.”

He blushed, two spots of red colouring his sharp cheekbones as Anne sucked in a breathy laugh. He was in love with _Cole;_ her wonderful, magnificent, absolutely splendid Cole. Why hadn’t she ever seen it before? The tension at the table when Cole had told them he asked someone else to Ruby’s birthday party; the feeling that Roy was settling. He had been in love with Cole and she had kept them apart. Star-crossed lovers and she was the ancient family feud that separated them. “So, you’re…”

“I’m bisexual, Anne. I should have told you sooner but I went to an all-boys private school so fancying a person with a penis isn’t something I really flaunt that often. Good chance I’d have gotten a ribbing from the other boys if they found out. They always did horrible things to anyone they even _suspected_ was gay; so, I never told anyone, really.”

“Do your parents know?” she asked him, her hand shooting out to cover his on the table, calming the fingers that drummed agitatedly.

“Yeah, yeah my parents know. And they’re both cool with it; really supportive. I’m lucky. My dad worried though because I started acting out; grades slipping and doing stupid pranks and things. It was just frustration; hiding myself so my friends would be more comfortable. But I don’t feel like I need to hide myself here.”

Anne grinned at him, squeezing his hand, and he tangled their fingers together. “I’m glad. Thank you for trusting me enough with this.”

“Well, I needed to tell someone and you’re one of the best friend’s I’ve made here. Hey, Anne, I think I’m in love with your best friend,” Roy laughed before shrugging dejectedly. “Not that it’ll make much difference. I don’t think he feels the same.”

“Have you ever asked him?” Anne asked, knowing Cole well enough to know he wouldn’t have allowed himself to get close to Roy when he knew Anne liked him. Anne felt so selfish; she had never asked him his opinion on Roy. She had stolen Roy for herself and forced him to fall into something that resembled a relationship; something she thought they both wanted but now that she knew the truth, she wasn’t sure if this was ever what she wanted. It was always a little stilted when it came to being more romantic. Their friendship was easy; they had similar interests and laughed and danced together, always enjoying each other’s company but when it came to flirting or to kissing, it was frigid; devoid of feeling. They didn’t work; they never had.

“Don’t give up on him,” Anne urged. “Please tell him how you feel.”

“Only if you will,” Roy teased. Anne’s brow furrowed, the meaning of what he said lost on her. “Look, Anne, excuse me if I’m being presumptuous here but I think we both forced this so we didn’t have to face our true feelings, don’t you? If you don’t know yet that Gilbert Blythe is in love with you then you must be delusional.”

“I know he’s in love with me,” Anne admitted. “Did you not hear? He told me on Saturday.”

“Just before I walked in…” Roy mused, reflecting on the scene he had stumbled upon in the bedroom; Gilbert staring at Anne, skin flushed and fists clenched, Anne wide eyed with shock, back pressed against her bookcase.

“Yes,” Anne breathed. “Exactly then. And he kissed me too, since we’re telling the truth, but I still don’t know how I feel about him.” She laughed lightly, but the smile never met her eyes.

“He kissed you? I didn't think he'd ever have the guts,” Roy grinned at her, his eyebrows shooting towards his hair line. “And how was that for you?”

Anne sighed, her lips pressing together into a tight, sad smile. “Like magic,” she admitted.

“Then I think you might just know how you feel about him.”

The two finished their coffees, Anne hugging Roy close when they separated at the door, whispering how proud of him she was and how happy she was that he came into her life. They parted as friends and as she walked home she pulled her phone from her pocket, typing a hasty text to Cole:

_Just to let you know, I’m not with Roy and you have my blessing. I love you so much_ _😊 xox_

**********

Diana Barry fidgeted at the ends of her dark curls as she neared the shed at the back of Green Gables, peeking into the gloom and searching for a tall, lithe frame that was so familiar to her; that she would know from touch alone.

“Jerry?” she whispered into the dark, stepping fretfully over the threshold. She inhaled deeply to calm the canter of her heart, the rapid beating that told her what she was about to do was callous. But it was right; it needed to be done. She steeled herself and followed the sounds she could hear from the back of the workshop; the clanking of metal on metal.

“Jerry?”

He spun towards her, his eyes wide with shock at her being there, her pretty blue dress, expensive coat and glossy curls juxtaposing with the grimy, dark interior of the mechanics shed. This was where he belonged; smelling faintly of engine oil and sweat. It wasn’t the place for a modern-day princess like Diana.

“Diana? What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk,” she admitted. “I need to apologise to you, Jerry.”

Jerry shook his head, returning to his work, bending a metal pipe into a smooth curve. “I’m busy,” he answered coldly.

“Just five minutes, Jerry. Please?” Diana pleaded. “It can’t wait.”

Jerry tossed the pipe he was working on onto the bench before him, running a hand over his eyes and groaning with frustration. His head snapped towards her; her eyes wide and desperate. Those pretty, pleading eyes he found it hard to say no to.

“Five minutes.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “May I sit?” She gestured towards a high stool that was covered in rusted scrap parts that he and Matthew meant to discard a week ago. Jerry swiped his arm across the stool, knocking the clutter to the ground with loud clatter.

“Be my guest.” He leant his back against the bench, folding his arms across his chest protectively as Diana hopped up onto the stool, crossing her legs elegantly. He swallowed back, readying himself for the blow. She was about to call it quits, this ridiculous arrangement they had. And he was ready. He gave what he could and always received less; and he deserved more. He deserved to be loved equally, not hidden away like a shameful secret.

“Let me start by saying I’m sorry,” she began, drawing him away from his dark thoughts. “Truly, Jerry. I was cruel and I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” he nodded and then brushed his hands against his trousers. “Are we done here?”

“No, Jerry. I – Can’t you wait a moment more?”

“I’m busy Diana. Some of us don’t have the world handed to us on a silver platter. We need to work for everything we get.”

“Could you stop that?” Diana cried. “You think you have me sussed but you don’t, Jerry. I’m trying to explain to you why I did it; just listen!”

Jerry stared at her; her cheeks flushed with angry red spots, her brow furrowed, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows. He nodded slowly, allowing himself to lean against the work top again.

“My life isn’t so easy Jerry. My parents, they put a lot of pressure on me. They expect so much and it – ugh! It drives me mad! And you came along and you were freedom. You’re allowed to do what you want; what makes you happy. And I wanted a taste of that. I’m sorry.”

Jerry pursed his lips, his heart aching for the beautiful girl before him; the girl who felt trapped in a world she didn’t feel she belonged in. “And what makes you happy, Diana?”

“My music,” she shrugged sadly, “and not an unfulfilling law degree that my parents want me to have.”

“I thought they let you play?”

“As a hobby, not anything more. Could you imagine Eliza Barry’s daughter a struggling musician?” she giggled and he laughed, the tension that crackled between them dissipating. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Jerry.”

“Yeah, well…” he shrugged. “I’m sorry I broke our _rules_.” And he grinned, his handsome face illuminating with warmth.

“Can we be friends?” Diana asked him and she reached her hand out to him. Jerry eyed the outstretched hand and clasped it in his own. It was tiny and delicate in his work roughened hand and he wondered how he realised they never matched before. Her hand never fit his perfectly. She was never for him.

“Sure; we can be friends.”

Diana hopped off the stool, feeling lighter from the guilt that she had shouldered since her kiss with Fred the weekend before and her subsequent talking down from Anne. She had never considered how Jerry must have felt before; setting rules she expected both of them would follow and hiding him away from everyone. She knew Anne would have been upset; Jerry was like a brother to her and Anne was a romantic, always looking for the ‘one’. She knew she wouldn’t have understood a fling; a silly little fling that was only for fun and wasn’t to involve feelings.

But she had missed Anne terribly all week; the two of them sharing a table at lunch yet barely uttering two words to each other. And she knew the others had noticed, especially when Diana had remained tight-lipped over Gilbert’s declaration. The others had swooned over it all week, Anne shifting uncomfortably under their gazes and interrogation; Did she feel the same? Was she sorry she didn’t tell him she loved him too? What was happening with her and Roy? The questions never ended and Diana could tell how confused Anne was; contradicting herself with her answers. Yes, she _liked_ him but _loved_ him, she wasn’t sure. Like she wasn’t sure what happened with her and Roy; he didn’t make her feel like Gilbert, she knew that. Gilbert made her feel like she was burning up from the inside out; like her heart might explode from her chest. Diana wondered why they were still discussing it; comparing these two boys like there was a competition. There was never any. Anne may not have realised but Diana had known for years that Anne’s feelings for Gilbert had run much deeper than just a friendship; the two of them were ridiculously obvious. Sitting stiff if one’s hand brushed the other’s skin; lost in each other’s eyes. Their teasing banter that always verged on flirting. But who was she to dictate what Anne do; she needed to come to this realisation herself. Diana just wanted to be included again. She had another apology to make.

**********

Anne was curled on her desk chair, her battered copy of _Jane Eyre_ open before her but she couldn’t focus on it today. The story felt flat; Mr Rochester seemed arrogant and she didn’t feel the burning jealousy and stirring of butterflies at his love declaration like she usually did. Instead, she found herself staring out of the window in the direction of the stone house with the jolly red door that bordered an orchard, imagining the boy inside it and what he was doing. Was he lost in his thoughts; thinking about her like she thought about him? Or had he begun to move on; maybe sending flirty text messages to someone new, Heart eye emojis peppering his messages to Winnifred Rose or Christine Stuart. She felt nauseous at the thought of it; of him loving someone else. She swallowed back, trying to dispel the lump in her throat and her fingertips brushed lightly against her mouth, the ghost of a kiss that caused her skin to tingle and her knees to weaken. She felt a blush appear high on her cheeks imagining his arms around her again, the feel of the smooth muscle in his shoulders as he drew her closer, the soft brush of his curls against her hands as she clenched fistfuls of them. She had kissed him once but she seldom thought of anything else now; wondering how she never realised before just _how_ he made her feel; like her heart could burst right from her chest. How that smile that exposed the dimples in his cheeks made her legs feel like jelly and her stomach to flutter queerly. Her life was a little duller without him in it; everything was grey and lonely, but she always seen in brilliant technicolour when she was with him.

There was a light knock to her bedroom door and she felt a flutter to her chest as she stood to answer it; hope sang like a lark in her chest. Hope that it was him, with a bashful smile and a fistful of daisies but the door swung back to reveal Diana; her hands clasped together and an earnest expression on her face. Anne felt the hope flicker and die. He wasn’t coming back.

“Hello,” Diana greeted and she smiled tightly, anxiety at Anne rejecting her apology pulsing through her.

“Hello.”

“May I come in?” Diana asked and she shuffled her feet as she awaited a reply. Anne stepped back and flourished her arm for Diana to enter. Diana sat on the edge of Anne’s bed, her legs swinging over the side as she watched Anne settled in her desk chair, her body turned towards Diana.

“I apologised to Jerry,” she informed Anne and Anne’s head snapped to hers, eyes widened in surprise. “You were right, Anne. I was cruel. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. Diana, I judged you quickly. I know not everything is a love story; I suppose I was just disappointed that I was left out.” She laughed lightly and studied her hands. “It was probably shock too, you know. I had convinced myself for months that you were with Gilbert.”

“Gilbert?” Diana laughed; and the joyous tinkle filled Anne’s little gable room, lifting Anne’s spirit. “Anne, you’re a fool! How could you not have known he’s been in love with you forever? He's never made a secret of it.”

“I know,” Anne sighed heavily. “I'm only starting to realise that now. I don't know how I never noticed before. _”_

“You're so oblivious, Anne. And you've spent all this time forcing something with Roy” Diana reproached, taking Anne's hand in her own and squeezing it gently.

“I spoke to Roy," Anne informed her, "and it turns out he’s been in love with someone else this whole time.”

“No? Who?” Diana quizzed, tantalized by the prospect of gossip involving her cousin. He didn’t have many friends here; Charlie and Fred, Cole and Anne. She had never seen him with other girls.

“It’s not my news to tell. I’ll let him do the honours.” Diana furrowed her brow; her mind racing to make connections in her head; for a lightbulb to come on. “I’m sure we’ll all know soon enough anyway, if this person feels the same,” Anne explained.

And Anne really hoped he did. Cole had gone through so much. The rejection from his parents had broken him but they had watched him grow in confidence again, slowly, year by year; picking up the pieces of his old self and building the brilliant boy that knew now. And he deserved to be loved by someone as truly wonderful as Roy; a poet. Both boys had art in their souls; kindred spirits.

“Do you know what you’re going to do about Gilbert?” Diana asked Anne softly and Anne stood, moving to the bed beside Diana and collapsing onto her back, huffing out a sigh and pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“Ugh! I don’t know. I – I kissed Gilbert,” she admitted, flushing at Diana’s shocked expression and the phantom feeling of his lips on hers; his fingertips gripping her waist.

“Anne, you scoundrel! Why didn’t you tell me?” Diana giggled, falling back onto the bed beside her and resting her head against Anne’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Anne croaked into the silence, her eyes linking the yellow stars on the ceiling together to form constellations. “Maybe because of Roy? He walked in straight after and I was so flustered. It was so sudden.” 

“Is this the scene of the crime?” Diana asked, scandalised.

“Yes,” Anne laughed lightly. “Right there, by the bookshelf.”

“I bet Gilbert knows what he’s doing too. He strikes me as a good kisser.”

Anne groaned quietly, the butterfly farm in her stomach fluttering back to life; wings flapping wildly. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about _him.”_

“Well, that must count for something.”

Diana’s words reverberated around Anne’s brain; that must count for something. And it must. She had spent months, since a sunny afternoon on September 1st, convincing herself that it was Roy; Roy was what she wanted. Wasn’t he dark and moody and mysterious? Wasn’t he the boy in books that she always fell in love with; that she allowed herself to fantasise over? But he wasn’t any of those things. He was just a normal boy with a secret that he kept close to his chest; a flicker of love for someone that he thought he couldn’t have. He wasn’t brooding or mysterious; he was quiet and reserved to protect himself from getting hurt. He didn’t have dark eyes and a stormy soul; his soul was soft and poetic; it was romantic, falling for a handsome boy with blue eyes, pale skin and hair as golden as sunlight on a summer afternoon. She was infatuated with a fantasy; a mirage that wrote her love notes and gifted her thoughtful things and supported her dreams; that fought her bullies and slayed her dragons. But that wasn’t Roy; that wasn’t any boy from her books.

The boy that did that was real; soft eyes and a teasing smile; dark curls and a splendid chin. Her absolute best friend in the world; the reason her heart beat at all.

And suddenly, a veil had been lifted; the world a brilliant technicolour again, her brain fizzing and her synapses firing, all the puzzle pieces slotting together to form a wonderful, beautiful picture. She felt her eyes sting with tears; happy and true. It hadn’t been sudden; perhaps, after all, romance didn’t come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend. Perhaps it unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship; a golden hearted rose slipping from it’s sheath. Perhaps, all this time, she had been wrong about who and what she wanted; his velvety voice and steady love was all she needed. Nothing else.

She could feel a sweat break across her brow, her heart beating wildly, like a horse galloping across the moors. She needed to see him. She needed to let him know. Her body snapped upright, her voice breathless and urgent.

“I’m in love with Gilbert Blythe!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it: she's in love with Gilbert Blythe! (Honestly, join the queue, Anne. Who isn't?)
> 
> And, I made Diana apologise for using Jerry. Honestly, the fact that she never did in the show didn't sit right with me. I know she's a character and is flawed (I think everyone is flawed in awae; that's what makes it so relatable) but it would have been fair to Jerry if there had have been some closure for him. Justice for Jerry!
> 
> And I made Roy bisexual. I wanted him to have been interested in Anne at the start but I just love the idea of him and Cole together so much, I decided that this was where I wanted his arc to go (I left a clue with titling a chapter after Red, White and Royal Blue as a character in it is bisexual, so 10 points to Gryffindor if you picked that up 😉) 
> 
> Once again, a huge thank you to you all for reading this. I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying it and I love writing it for you.  
> I had some bad news this week (nothing life threatening. I went for my dream job and didn't get it) and wasn't much in the form for writing for a while (sorry if this chapter isn't my best) but all the positive feedback I received from this wonderful community really lifted my spirits and softened the blow. You have no idea what impact your kind words can have, so if you have taken the time to comment or leave kudos (or just to read this, really) thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> Wishing you all a lovely week. Stay fabulous! x


	10. “All my heart is yours, sir. It belongs to you” Jane Eyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne attempts to tell Gilbert how she feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahoy there, fic friends!  
> Apologies for the very late update.  
> The real world called unfortunately and I had some work things to do.  
> I hope this final chapter is all you hoped it to be and thank you for the lovely feedback on chapter 9.  
> Sad Gilbert seems to do it for a lot of people, huh?
> 
> Enjoy, my lovelies!

“I’m in love with Gilbert Blythe!”

Anne heaved in a great gasping breath as the words tumbled from her lips and ricocheted around the room, splitting the comfortable silence she and Diana had fallen into. Her heart thumped furiously against her ribcage as her large, rounded eyes found Diana’s. “Diana, I love him,” she repeated, her voice a breathy laugh, her face splitting into a glorious grin.

Of course, she was in love with him! She struggled to remember a time when she wasn’t now. She could just never see it for what it was. She had read so much about love; how it looked and how it felt but when it was before her, steady and patient and _real,_ so very, very real, she couldn’t identify it. She had wanted the simmering tension and heated discussions; a spiteful love that she read about time and time again that was easy to confuse with a deep hatred but what she had was so much different. So much _better_. She had a love that grew from a friendship. She had a heart offered to her by a boy that she knew inside out and upside down; all the good and bad parts of him. His kindness and patience (six years _was_ a terribly long time to wait for someone to realise they loved you back), his goofy sense of humour and his lopsided grin. His stubbornness and determination. The molten chocolatiness to his voice when he spoke; a voice she was desperate to hear tell her he loved her again, to allow the words to swirl around her and envelope her into a warm cocoon. Her heart would be safe with him, tucked away with his own in the warm expanse of his chest, and his would be safe with her, despite her foolishly leading him to think that she could never feel the same.

“You’re sure?” Diana asked, sitting upright beside her, her brown eyes wide and dancing with excitement, her face splitting into a beatific grin.

“I’m sure.”

“100% absolutely no doubt in your mind?” Diana pressed, her hand gripping Anne’s and squeezing it tightly.

“Diana, I’ve never been so sure of anything before in my life!” Anne’s heart was light and happy; the weight of the week lifted from her with one glorious revelation. But what did she do? He wasn’t speaking to her anymore. If she arrived at his house, he would surely close the door in her face, draw the blinds and force her away. She couldn’t just parade around and expect him to listen, not when she had hurt him so much.

Diana watched as Anne’s face morphed; the luminous joy seeping from her pores and evaporating into the air as her brow furrowed and her eyes lost their sparkle.

“Anne, what is it?” Diana pressed. “This is good, isn’t it?”

“But he doesn’t want to speak to me anymore, Diana. He told me himself,” she explained, her voice small as she shrugged her narrow shoulders.

“Oh.” Diana chewed distractedly at her perfectly manicured cuticles. This was a predicament indeed. But she had not watched Anne and Gilbert dance around each other for so long, Anne denying her feelings and Gilbert choking down the three words he so desperately wanted to let free, both of them skirting around embarking on the next step, for them to fall apart all because Gilbert Blythe was stubborn to listen and Anne was too proud to plead. There had to be a way for Anne to reach him.

“Why don’t you text him?” Diana suggested.

“Diana Eliza Barry, I am not texting him! What would I say? ‘ _Hi Gilbert, I love you, heart eye emoji_? Where’s the romance?”

“I meant text him to ask him to meet you and talk but alright,” Diana huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. She stared towards Anne’s desk, her gaze resting on the tortoiseshell fountain pen that lay upon a stack of books; an idea pinging in her brain like the filament of a light bulb buzzing to life. “Why don’t you write to him?”

“Write to him?” Anne mused.

“Wouldn’t that be romantical?” Diana gushed, her hand gripping onto Anne’s arm. “It’s like something you would read in a book!”

“Write to him…” Anne let the thought echo around her mind, squirming excitedly as she imagined penning an elegant letter and delivering it to him, urging him to please look at it. And he would read it, his eyes roaming across her beautiful prose again and again before springing to his feet, his chair clattering to the ground, and running to her, emerging from the early spring gloom like a hero from a novel, drawing her to him and claiming her lips with his again. She flushed at the thought, allowing the fantasy to fill her up, her heart to become light, with hope singing in her soul like a lark in a tree. Yes, this was it. This was what she was going to do. “Diana, you’re a genius!”

“Well, I do try,” Diana laughed as Anne sprung to her feet, her hand delving into the crammed drawer of her desk searching for a binder filled with thick, cream parchment she had purchased for writing on, her hand instead finding the smooth leather of a notebook. She dragged it from among the spare pens and scrunchies, smoothing her hand over the leather as a new idea formed in her head, her eyes resting upon the copy of _Jane Eyre_ that remained abandoned on her desk, half-read.

That was the next novel she was going to give him, she remembered, before they fell apart. Who would have thought that all this time she was giving Gilbert books to read, providing him with a romantic hero education, when he was as much a romantic hero himself? He hadn’t needed it; he was perfect as he was. All this time she had been asking him about fictional characters that she had fantasised over; literary heroes who were brooding and serious or sweet and devoted, and she had allowed him to compare himself to them. To measure himself against their standards, gauging whether he would ever be enough for Anne. She didn’t know why she hadn’t realised that before; wasn’t that what he had murmured to her, his voice hushed and hurt, in her bedroom; _“Your book boyfriend…I’m not him to you, am I?”_

But she didn’t need the fantasy anymore; it had bewitched her, the romanticised notion that love had to be spontaneous and all-consuming, when she knew it could be gentle and sweet. It didn’t have to be urgent, a rough push against a wall and a frenzied kiss; it could be a tight hug, arms winding tighter as you shielded the other from the world. That was the love she had with Gilbert. He was the book boyfriend that had never been authored. But that would change today.

She pulled the chair from underneath her desk, sliding into it and snapping her copy of _Jane Eyre_ closed with a heavy thud, dropping it into her desk drawer, pushing it shut with a thump. she didn’t need Mr Rochester anymore; Jane was welcome to him, because who wanted Mr Rochester when you could have Gilbert Blythe? She set the notebook before her, a beautiful leather bound book with a gilded spine that Cole had given her at Christmas, her fingers tracing the spine before opening it, the weighty, cream paper still unblemished; childish fantasies of Princess Cordelia and the dark and handsome Wisteria not yet tainting it’s pages.

“What are you going to write?” Diana asked her from her spot on the bed.

“Well, I wanted a book boyfriend didn’t I?” Anne asked, turning towards Diana. “I’m going to write myself one.”

“Oh, Anne this is so exciting. I _have_ to tell Cole!”

Anne laughed as Diana scrambled to locate her phone, lost among the throw cushions on Anne’s bed, before scrolling to his number and ringing him.

“Cole…Where are you?...Oh, right…. Well, guess what?...Yes! How did you know?... Wait, how did Roy know?.... Well, never mind that. Isn’t this exciting?”

Anne unscrewed the lid of her fountain pen as Diana chattered, the tortoiseshell cool in her hand. She wondered if he had ever imagined being the hero in her story when he had bought her it; the pen that made her words feel like magic, the story of a handsome, curly haired rogue spilling from it’s nib. Did he ever wonder if Cordelia may change her mind and rather Gardenia after all? And she did; all she hoped was that he still wanted her and it wouldn’t be too late.

She placed her pen to the paper and began to write; the words swirling and looping across the luxurious paper, narrating the story of a feisty little feminist with hair as fiery as her temper and a boy with a teasing smile and chocolate brown curls; who had eyes that spilled with love and a heart that beat for her. A story of an ill-fated prank and a beaten-up hardback book that became an impromptu weapon in an act of self-defence and how that fight had turned to friendship and flared into love; how the six years of their knowing each other was peppered with stolen glances and moments when they both questioned if the other was flirting, if their gaze lingered for a second too long. Of how there were times when they drew one step too close, when glances lingered on lips and the air fizzled with delectable tension anticipating one of them to act; pushing the other to the wall in an impulsive kiss or accidentally letting those three little words that lived on the tip of their tongues to tumble free. How she had become confused; mingling fiction with reality and allowing herself to be wooed by Roy, mistaking every romantic gesture from Gilbert to be from him. How she had mistaken his friendship with Diana as something deeper and repressed her own feelings so much that when his bubbled to the surface in a delightful declaration and a sizzling kiss, she didn’t know what to make of her own; second-guessing every feeling she had and allowing her head to rule her heart.

But she knew her heart now; she had freed it from the clutches of her analytical brain. She had braced the storm and as the gale slowed to a breeze and the rain cleared, as the dust settled around her, she could see who it was on the other-side; hand out stretched, eyes awash with that loving gaze that filled her from her head to her toes and warmed her through. And when she finished writing, collapsing back into her chair and re-reading the where she had finished their story, still incomplete, recounting to him her stark realisation of her own feelings and how she was in love with him, she realised she hadn’t added in a crucial element to any novel, turning back to the very first page and penning her dedication:

_To Gilbert Blythe,_

_I don’t want sunbursts or marble halls. I just want you_

_All my love_

_Anne_

**********

Cole McKenzie was having a strange Friday evening. He was spending it by himself, heading home after school with a plan to complete the sketch of Anne he had begun that he was gifting to her on her birthday; pencilling a picture of her from a photograph he owned of her lying in the grass in Avonlea park on a glorious summer’s day, the sun dappling against her skin and making it appear as though it was glowing, her hair spilling around her in wonderful waves, like tongues of fire igniting the fresh, green earth around her, haloed with pretty little daisies. Her eyes were sparkling a sapphire blue and her face was split into a toothy grin as she giggled. He loved that photograph of her, how perfectly happy she looked. And as he drew the photograph from his sketchbook again, settling onto his bed and rummaging through the tin he kept his charcoal pencils in to look for the 2B pencil he had used the day before to shade around her eyes, he reminisced on the day it was taken. It was the day he realised how Gilbert Blythe felt, watching his interactions with Anne and how he was unable to draw his gaze from her, a look of dumbstruck awe on his handsome face.

It had been hot and Jane had suggested a picnic, the gang packing up blankets and snacks into a cooler box, the boys bringing a soccer ball to kick around on the lawn. They had found a shady spot below a tall, leafy canopy and had spread their blankets out, lounging back on the tartan rugs and basking in the heat of the sun. Anne had began weaving daisies together, one after the other in a long, looping chain and had giggled when she wrestled Gilbert onto his back and adorned his curls with it. Cole shot a glance at Diana, who returned it with a sly, knowing smile, and when Gilbert had pushed her off of him, Anne rolling onto her back and clutching her sides as she laughed, he had lifted Cole’s camera, a heavy black one with a strap, and had snapped the very photo Cole was sketching, his smile soft when he drew away from the view piece and scrolled through the stored photographs, finding the shot he had just taken of the girl he loved.

When the boys had jogged out onto the grass, passing the ball between them with swift kicks, Cole had stretched onto his back beside Anne, tugging gently at the petals of a daisy and letting them drift from his fingertips one by one in the soft summer breeze.

“You know Gilbert has a crush on you, right?”

Anne stared at him, her mouth agape. “What? No, he doesn’t!”

“He does,” Cole teased.

“He does not.” But Cole had watched a secret flicker of a smile pass over her face; a smile that made him think she might have felt the same.

But none of that mattered now. Anne was with Roy, right at that very moment, tucked up in a coffee shop. The thought made Cole’s heart ache; he couldn’t help it. He _liked_ Roy, despite his better intentions to ignore the feelings and be supportive of Anne. He had found himself thinking about him more and more often; found himself becoming distracted in his company, absorbing in his smoky, cedar scent and the way his jaw length hair curled around his ears as he pushed it away from his face. He became preoccupied with how his skin stretched taut over his neck when he smiled that devilish grin and how, sometimes, whether it was intentional or not, he would blush, two spots high on his cheekbones, when Cole would catch him staring at him, his head snapping away and his gaze resting on the closest inanimate object. Cole hated when that happened.

He was one of a very small population of students who were out in school and so he found himself playing a game of _‘Is this flirting or am I delusional?’_ more often than he would like to admit. And he played this with Roy more times than he could count; Roy teasing him with a twinkle to his eye, how he seemed to have a smile he reserved just for Cole, his lips pressed together, his mouth quirked to the side; a soft smile that Cole read as ‘I like you’. Which, of course, was categorically untrue because Roy liked Anne. They had spent Ruby’s party pressed together before Anne had made a hasty exit, barrelling through the crowd of dancing bodies jostling against each other in Ruby’s front room and disappearing into the cold night air. Cole wasn’t at all sure what had happened that night and Roy had seemed equally bewildered, drawing him aside to voice his concerns before they were interrupted by Gilbert, panic in his eyes as he urged Roy to tell him where Anne had disappeared to.

“Do you think they like each other?” Roy had asked him as Gilbert’s body disappeared into the partygoers.

“I used to,” Cole admitted. “But she likes you now.”

“Does she?” Roy had asked, his voice as soft as a whisper yet Cole could hear him as clear as day over the thumping music. And when his eyes met Roy’s he felt his breath catch in his throat; Roy’s dark gaze locked to his, his eyes sad; like they had just lost a lover before they had even won them.

And when news broke on Monday about Gilbert Blythe’s colossal rejection, Cole was surprised. He had never expected Gilbert to have been so bold; he imagined he would have waited forever for Anne to make the first move. And he was even more surprised that Anne had picked Roy; after all their shared history, it turned out that her book boyfriend was who she had always wanted after all. He was sad for Gilbert but he was startled to find he was sad for himself too. He had hoped that Roy’s flirtations had meant something, even though he had resisted reciprocating any of his cheeky remarks or intense stares, but once again he had read the situation wrong. It hadn’t been flirting; it never was.

As he began tracing short, swift pencil strokes through Anne’s hair, his phone buzzed beside him, the screen flashing with a notification from Anne:

_Just to let you know, I’m not with Roy and you have my blessing. I love you so much_ _😊 xox_

He stared at the screen, reading and re-reading the message and making no sense of it’s meaning. She wasn’t with Roy? But they had just been on a date, hadn’t they? And how could he have her blessing when Roy was obviously not interested. He had let himself get close to Anne; he must have felt _something_ for her.

His phone buzzed again, the lock-screen flashing up a notification from Roy:

_I’m outside. Are you free for a chat?_

Cole stared at the message before pushing his book and pencils aside and slipping from the bed, padding to the window and peering through it. And there he was, stood at the foot of the steps leading to the door of The Manse, staring directly up at Cole’s window, his hand raising into a wave when he spotted Cole there. Cole furrowed his brow, confused at what had transpired between Roy and Anne that would have him standing in his garden needing to talk. He slipped into his coat, lacing his Nike trainers back onto his feet before allowing his long legs to skip down the staircase and out onto the porch.

“Hey,” he called as he opened the door, Roy turning to him, his hands buried into his pockets, a sheepish smile to his face.

“Hey.”

“I just got your text,” Cole explained, lifting his phone to Roy before slipping it into his pocket. “What’s up?”

“Do you mind if we sit?” Roy asked, gesturing to the steps that Cole stood on.

“Sure.”

Roy skipped up the stone steps, dropping beside Cole on the top step and heaving a deep breath.

“Is everything alright?” Cole pressed, noticing how his jaw had tensed, is hands wrung together tightly, turning the skin a stark shade of white. “I just got a message from Anne. Have you guys broken up?”

Roy chuckled breathily, his head shaking. “I think you have to be together to break up.”

“Weren’t you together?” Cole puzzled. They certainly seemed _together_ to him; spending time with each other and cuddling close; sharing kisses.

“We couldn’t be,” Roy stated and his hand dropped to his side, flattening against the stone and brushing gently against Cole’s, Cole’s skin puckering into tingling goosepimples.

Cole could feel his breath catch in his throat as he stared down at their hands, Roy’s index finger caressing his skin softly.

“Why not?” he breathed, his gaze rising to meet Roy’s.

“We both like someone else,” Roy replied, his voice gravelly, and Cole felt the air expel from his lungs as Roy twisted ever so slightly towards him, leaning forward and allowing his free hand to brush gently against Cole’s cheek. Cole felt himself lean into his touch as Roy’s gaze descended upon his lips, already slightly parted and claimed his mouth with his own.

The kiss was soft, Roy’s lips moving against Cole’s gently as Cole’s tummy tickled with butterflies, his hand finding Roy’s knee to ground him, to make him believe this wasn’t a dream. He felt the flutter of Roy’s eyelashes against his cheekbone as his eyes shut tightly, his lips pressing against Cole’s with a sudden fierceness, his hand roaming into Cole’s floppy blonde hair and tightening around a fistful of the soft, short locks, Cole’s lips still pressed to his.

When they broke apart Cole laughed brightly, his hand brushing against his mouth, savouring the taste of Roy on his lips; slightly smoky with a hint of coffee. “Me?” he asked in astonishment.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Roy chuckled.

“For me, yeah,” Cole replied and Roy weaved his fingers with his, his thumb brushing against Cole’s pale skin.

Cole’s phone buzzed in his pocket but he tried to ignore it; reluctant to break this moment between him and Roy.

Roy laughed. “Aren’t you going to get that?”

Cole pulled the phone from his pocket, Diana’s pretty face smiling up at him. He answered it with a sigh.

“Diana?.... I’m at home… What’s up?... Anne loves Gilbert…. Roy told me… Anne had told him… It is, Diana. Look, I have to go.”

He hung up, grinning at Roy. “Anne’s in love with Gilbert.”

“I knew it!” Roy exclaimed. “Looks like we’re all getting our happy endings.”

“It sure does,” Cole replied and Roy’s gaze darkened.

“Speaking of which…where were we?”

And his hands found Cole’s hips, drawing their bodies together as they sought each other’s lips again, Cole smiling into their kiss.

His own love story; finally. He was no longer the wallflower, watching from the side-lines. He was desirable; he was desired by Roy.

**********

Anne awoke with a start the next morning, curled into a ball on the top of her duvet, stretching out with a yawn. She had fallen into a heavy sleep the night before, drained from the furious burst of energy that had overtaken her as she had scribbled out her love letter to Gilbert; a novel of them. How he was the book boyfriend she had always needed but never realised she wanted; how wrong she had been.

Diana had left whilst Anne was writing it, laughing as she headed for the door and jesting “Alright, I know when I’m not wanted. Just make sure it’s put down in your wedding speeches that I was the catalyst to all this. I was the one who told you to write him so I’m taking full responsibility for whatever happens next.”

“Goodbye, Diana,” she had sighed sarcastically, laughing and rolling her eyes as the vision in blue slipped from the room with a wink.

Anne’s stomach simmered with anxious anticipation as she sat up and checked her clock, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It was just after 11 she realised with a jolt; she was late. She hopped from her bed, pulling on the closest clothes to hand; jeans she had discarded over the back of her chair, a sweater that spilled from her chest of drawers, her trusty combat boots, abandoned by her bedroom door where she had kicked them off the night before. She cursed softly under her breath. She had planned her morning out, rising early and going to him straight away, urging him to read what she couldn’t verbalise and then leaving, giving him time to process her side of their story and mull over whether or not he still felt the same. And she so hoped he did; her heart aching at the thought that his feelings may have changed. This week apart had been long for her; tedious and dull without his sunny smile and warm gaze but maybe it had been healing for him. Perhaps he realised that he didn’t love her as deeply as he thought. Perhaps he allowed himself to flirt with Winnie in Dr Ward’s office or indulge in a coy conversation with the pretty brunette shop assistant from their local supermarket who always blushed prettily and undercharged him when he queued at her check-out, Anne normally teasing him afterwards.

“She just undressed you with her eyes,” she would quip as they strolled through the automatic doors and into the carpark, gilbert carrying Anne’s bags despite her protestations.

“You sound like you’re jealous,” he would answer, his eyes twinkling as his gaze met hers, his mouth twisting into that mischievous smile that sent a tingle down her spine and a flush across her skin, blooming from her collarbones and blossoming over her neck to settle on her cheeks. When she looked back now, she couldn’t understand how she had never known how she felt about him before; those jokes always hid the truth. She _was_ jealous, she had always been.

She laced her boots with fumbling fingers and packed her book into her bag, skipping down the stairs with a renewed sense of urgency; she had to tell him today, it couldn’t wait any longer.

She burst into the kitchen, slinging her satchel to the floor as she grabbed her coat from the hook by the door.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, just where do you think you’re going before breakfast?” Marilla scolded, pouring tea into a patterned china cup and offering it to Anne.

“Gilbert! I love him. I have to tell him – now!” Anne cried as she fastened her buttons.

Marilla shared an incredulous glance with Matthew, who was seated at the kitchen table, a slice of toast hovering before him, Anne’s declaration rendering him motionless.

“Are you quite sure it’s love?” Marilla asked her, her voice expelling from her in a breathless squeak.

“Yes,” Anne replied. “And if I don’t tell him soon, then he may move on and he’ll never know.”

“Well then what are you waiting for,” Marilla pressed. “Don’t make the same mistake I did, Anne. Go to him. Now; before it’s too late.”

Marilla’s hands clutched at her heart as Anne swept her bag from the polished floor and slung it across her chest.

“Wish me luck,” she called as she bounded from the door to a chorus of “Gook luck!” from Matthew and Marilla, Marilla’s voice watery with emotion.

Anne’s feet carried her as quickly as they could, pounding against the pavement as she rushed through Avonlea, disgruntled passers-by tutting as she pushed past them; a mad girl with wild hair and ruddy cheeks. She gasped in short, sharp breaths, her lungs inhaling lung-fulls of chilled late February air, her feet directing her towards the edge of town where there was a stone house with a jolly red door and an orchard; where there was a boy who held her heart so tenderly.

And then there it was before her, the curtains pulled wide to the world, silhouettes of the family inside moving around the sitting room. She paused, resting her hand on the wrought iron gate, swallowing back and allowing her quick, sharp breaths to regulate to a flirtatious breathlessness, the bright red spots on her cheeks calm to a pretty, petal blush, before pushing the gate open and striding determinedly up the path rehearsing a romantic declaration in her head.

‘ _Gilbert, please read this.’_ But did he not deserve a better explanation than that?

 _‘Gilbert Blythe, I am so tremendously sorry I was so foolish. I cherish your friendship greatly but I cherish your love even more. This explains it all.’_ No, that was much too long. He would have the door slammed in her face before she would have the whole statement even stuttered out.

 _‘I’m sorry I was confused. I’m not anymore. I love you.’_ Better. Not perfect but to the point. She paused, taking a quick breath and wondering why she hadn’t brought him some flowers to sweeten the deal. Did boys even like flowers? Gilbert did, she remembered with a smile; the memory of her wrestling him to the ground, pinning him to the grass with her legs and perching a flower crown on his head, his face beaming as the chain of dainty daisies encircled his head of thick, dark curls.

Her stomach gurgled with nervous anticipation as she neared the porch. She had read about love declarations all the time but was evidently hopeless when it came to her own. She felt foolish standing in front of his door now with nothing to offer but herself and a scribbled story but, shaking her head, she pushed those thoughts aside and jauntily rapped her knuckles against the wood. It was too late to second guess herself now. He had to know or she would explode.

Her heart was in her throat; nerves bubbling uncomfortably in her stomach. But equally, she was exhilarated. She loved him. She _loved_ him and maybe he still loved her back. She chewed at her nail as she listened for movement from inside the house; a steady gait of heavy shoes traipsing up the hall and into the kitchen, the rattle of the door handle and the creak of the hinge as the door swung open.

“Gilbert, I…oh.” Her voice faltered in her throat, her heart sinking into her shoes as Bash eyed her from the other side of the door, his eyebrows raised comically and a toothy grin spreading onto his face.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he chuckled. “His lordship isn’t in.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back? It’s a matter of urgency.” Anne bounced on her toes, her body fizzing with anticipation to let her feelings free.

“A matter of urgency, eh?” Bash grinned at her, a knowing smile on his face. “Well, then I had better tell you where he is, hadn’t I?”

“If you could,” she blurted, “please.”

“He’s at the doctor’s office. He has some extra hours this weekend. But I can let him know you called if you’d rather.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Anne shot hastily, calling “Thank you, Bash!” over her shoulder as she turned unsteadily on her heel and leapt from the porch, sprinting down the paved pathway and out onto the street in the direction of Dr Ward’s office and the intern who would be there.

Bash watched her go, laughing at the wild expression in her eyes and her urgent breathlessness. He closed the door and ambled back into the living room where Muriel was sitting cross-legged on the rug before the fireplace, racing plastic cars across the floor with Dellie.

“Who was that?” she asked him as he dropped to his knees beside them, lifting an orange car and spinning the wheels distractedly.

“Anne,” he replied and his eyes met hers. “It was a matter of _urgency_.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Muriel chuckled, her eyebrows curving in surprise. “An ‘ _I finally realised I’m in love with this boy’_ urgency?”

“I would think so,” Bash grinned. “Just how much _do_ you see in your classroom? I’m jealous.”

Muriel laughed. “More than I’d care to share but let’s just say Miss Shirley-Cuthbert isn’t _half_ as subtle as she likes to think she is.” And Muriel leant into the little girl on the floor beside her, tickling her sides and drawing her in for a cuddle.

“You’re Uncle Gilby might come home with a girlfriend, Miss Dellie. What do you think of that?”

**********

Gilbert Blythe and Winnifred Rose were settled behind the reception desk in Dr Ward’s office, Gilbert leafing through a copy of the _Avonlea Gazette_ that was three weeks out of date and skimming over the local gossip that managed to make the papers; Mr Sloane’s hardware store had apparently been broken into, the thief making off with a hammer and three packets of 2 inch nails. Gilbert chuckled; there was never a dull day in Avonlea, he thought sarcastically.

It was a particularly sleepy Saturday morning and the weather had turned miserable; the heavy grey clouds tearing open, rain dashing off the large, old-fashioned sash windows and a strong wind rattling the glass, and there weren’t nearly enough bookings from patients needing to see the doctor to keep him busy. Dr Ward had decided a few weeks prior that he would like to have the office opened on Saturdays to catch the “everyday working folk, who couldn’t book during the week.” That meant he would need someone to man the reception desk and he shot a disgruntled Mrs Bell a hasty glance which she returned with a withering frown.

“Well it won’t be me, Doctor. I already see you more often than my own husband,” she huffed.

So, the job of answering the phones and filling the appointment book on Saturdays fell to Gilbert and Winnie, both pleased with the extra money that would be lining their pockets; Gilbert _was_ saving for college after all.

And it was easy money, Saturdays being slower than any other day of the week, both of them bleary eyed and bored because of the lack of bookings and grumbling crowd demanding when they would be seen as their appointment was “meant to be 20 minutes ago.” But despite the boredom, Gilbert was glad of the distraction the extra hours had brought to him and the change of scenery from the four walls of his bedroom and the suffocatingly sympathetic faces of Bash and Muriel, clucking and cooing over him like Mother Hens.

He had been trying to fill his time since his tremendous slip of the tongue (in more ways than one, he flushed as he remembered) at Anne’s house the day of Ruby’s birthday party and he had found himself grappling to find any activity to fill his spare time. He took on extra schoolwork, working methodically through Physics formulas and typing up lab reports on the effects of Hydrogen Peroxide on the enzymes in liver or how osmosis effects the water potential in cells through studying onion membranes for Biology. He had begun watching true crime documentaries, indulging in grisly tales of Jack the Ripper’s crimes or the occurrences at Rillington Place to divert his brain from wandering towards any romantic fantasy of Anne changing her mind and arriving at his front door flushed and breathless, drawing him to her and whispering “I love you” as her lips ghosted across his neck, peppering gentle kisses to his puckered skin. He took Dellie to the park, bundling her up in her coat and pushing her on the swing as she squealed with glee, stopping by the pond with a half a packet of stale bread to toss into the water for the ducks that paddled there and finishing their uncle-niece dates by baking chocolate chip cookies, dropping a floury kiss to her cheek and allowing her to fill up their measuring cups with sugar and chocolate chunks while he counted pointedly; “That’s one – two – three! Good girl, Dellie. You’re so clever!” He had begun running again, finding his running shoes kicked deep under his bed coated in a thin veil of dust. And, surprisingly, he found that he had missed it, retiring the hobby when he began his senior year because the workload expected of him became too much. But he often arrived home out of breath, his skin scarlet red and slicked with sweat but his mind feeling, momentarily, happier; better, the endorphins the exercise released masking the pain of his heart and the vivid image of Anne’s bright smile, blue eyes and hair that licked like tongues of fire that danced in his head on loop, taking up more airtime than he wished to give it. And he worked more often, staying in Dr Ward’s office later than what was expected from him, filing patients’ notes, sweeping the floors and sterilising equipment even though the cleaning team came in afterwards; taking on Saturday shifts so he didn’t have to sit at home alone; a dangerous thing to do now as it allowed him to indulge in thinking about Anne, leaving him sombre afterwards.

He and Winnie had been engaged in a half-hearted game of ‘ _Would You Rather’_ in between patients and Winnie eyed the grumbling man in the waiting room who methodically glanced at his watch every two minutes and mumbled about how ridiculous the wait was, gauging how close he was and if they could continue their game.

“I think it’s your turn,” she whispered to him as the man shifted in his seat and drew his phone from his back pocket.

“Again? Ugh, let me think… Would you rather have fingers the size of toes or toes the size of fingers?” he asked her, leaning back in his chair.

“What sort of question is that?” she laughed and after a pause, “Fingers the size of toes. Where would I find shoes if it was the other way around?”

He laughed at her answer as the phone trilled.

“Hello?” he said into the receiver, nodding at Dr Ward’s instructions and then clattering the phone back onto the desk.

“Mr Harrison,” he called across the waiting room. “The doctor is ready for you.”

Mr Harrison got to his feet, huffing “Well, it’s about bloody time,” and shuffled behind the door, pushing it closed behind him.

“Right,” he said, swinging back around to Winnie and leaning forward on his elbows. “Hit me.”

“Okay, would you rather…be able to control the weather or talk to animals?”

“Easy,” he answered, his face crinkling into a grin. “Talk to animals, like a proper Dr Doolittle. Would you rather,” he tapped his fingers to his chin. “Take a one-week trip to a foreign country or – Anne?”

“Anne?” Winnie’s face screwed in confusion as Gilbert stood up abruptly, the leather chair he had occupied circling slowly behind him. She shot a look over her shoulder to spot a red-haired girl she had met briefly at parties peering through the glass panel on the door, her face white and eyes wide, rogue raindrops rolling across her cheeks and her hair slicked to her head with the rain, appearing a dark auburn as opposed to its fiery red. Winnie glanced back at Gilbert, his fingers nervously drumming against his thighs as he gazed at her, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed back self-consciously.

Anne hesitated briefly before pushing the door open, the brass bell that hung at the door jamb tinkling cheerfully as she stepped over the threshold and into the stuffy waiting room. She smiled awkwardly as she moved closer to the desk, taking small, unconfident steps towards him, her azure coloured coat soaked through, the colour appearing as a deep navy with the rainwater it had absorbed.

“Hello,” she greeted, shooting Winnie a tight smile, her eyes dancing across the two people behind the desk as though she wasn’t sure what she had just stumbled upon. Had they been _flirting?_ She had always told Gilbert that Winnie fancied him and he had insisted they were friends but now she wasn’t so sure. _Had she been too late after all?_ she wondered, her heart clanging with hurt and a stab of spiteful jealousy at the pretty blonde with the angelic curls who sat primly behind the desk at Gilbert’s side.

Winnie shifted awkwardly in her seat, feeling smothered by the tension that zinged between Anne and Gilbert; Anne eyeing her suspiciously and Gilbert standing staring, rendered dumbstruck except for a whispered “ _Anne…”_ that Winnie wasn’t sure he had even realised he had said.

And although she had a soft spot in her heart for Gilbert, Winnie couldn’t even be surprised that it was Anne who had stolen his heart; even in her bedraggled state, hair stuck to her temples and boots squelching with the rainwater they had collected, there was something ethereal about her; a sweet innocence about her round blue eyes and pretty full mouth; the grace of a ballerina in her elegant neck and purposeful movements. Winnie pushed back from the desk.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” she said and she shot Anne a wary smile before slipping from behind the desk and parading down the waiting room, pushing through the door at the back into the cramped kitchenette.

Anne and Gilbert stayed silent, their gazes locked together, both willing the other to be the first to speak.

Gilbert swallowed the nerves that bubbled through him; he wasn’t sure why she was here but if this was going to be his swansong he at least wanted to have one last conversation with her.

“You’re soaked,” he blurted, his cheeks burning at how ridiculous a statement that had been and how foolish he must have sounded.

“It is raining,” Anne replied and, as if it was reinforcing her point, a great gust of wind rattled the windowpanes, smattering thundering drops of rain against the glass.

“O - of course,” he stuttered, shaking his head, his hand scratching across his jaw as his eyes found the toes of his Chucks. “That was stupid to say.”

And they fell into silence again, Anne wiping rivulets of rain that trickled from her hair away from her forehead, Gilbert pushing his hands deep into his pockets.

“She’s really beautiful,” Anne began, her voice mournful as she gestured towards the door at the back of the waiting room that Winnifred Rose had just disappeared through.

“Winnie? She’s… yeah, she is I suppose,” he answered and he lifted his shoulders into a shrug, dropping them abruptly as his hand shot to the back of his neck, the fingers finding the short curls there.

“She’s perfect for you,” Anne stated, smiling tightly as Gilbert’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing slightly as he tried to work out the meaning behind that statement. Anne’s mind was a mystery to him sometimes; everything she said had a double meaning, a point that he often missed.

“You know I don’t feel like that about her,” he answered, his voice measured and controlled. Was she trying to twist this on him? Maybe if he found someone for himself she wouldn’t feel so guilty about choosing Roy; maybe if he found someone for himself she would be able to pretend that he hadn’t torn aside his ribcage and exposed his heart to her.

“You could have fooled me.”

She laughed but her voice was mirthless and flat, her fingers snapping open the dainty brass clasp on her satchel and delving inside, lifting a leather-bound book from the flower-patterned lining and offering it to him, her arm outstretched.

He glanced at the book in her hand before finding her eyes with his again. “What is it?”

“I wrote it for you,” she answered, her mouth twisting into a sad smile. She slipped the book onto the varnished desk and shrugged. “Not that it was needed now I suppose. Goodbye, Gilbert.”

He watched her, dumbstruck, as she retreated from him, glancing over her shoulder one last time before she threw open the door and disappeared from his view.

“Wait, Anne!” he called after her, snapping from his trance to sprint from behind the desk and out into the hallway but she was gone, dissolved into the lunchtime rush bustling along the street, her blue coat and red hair lost among the beige rain macs and rainbow coloured umbrellas.

He returned to the office, his hands dragging roughly across his face and his eyes finding the book, his mind racing with thoughts on why she had written it; what it said. He lifted the notebook, allowing his hand to trace over the gilded spine and trail over the smooth, tan leather. He flicked it open to a random page, his eyes roaming over the script inside, his heart twisting painfully at what he read; a detailed account of her first date with Roy, the day he had met her when he was with Winnie, and how she felt they bonded over their shared love of poetry and literature. A sharp, sarcastic laugh exploded from his chest. She had written him a book about why she had rejected him. He couldn’t _believe_ it. He hadn’t needed an explanation; he always knew she wanted the fantasy. She had wanted the Mr Rochester he never could be but he certainly didn’t need it detailed as a keepsake. He pulled the wastepaper basket from under the desk and dropped the book inside, the heavy tome clattering noisily as it hit the bottom of the bin, rustling the handful of screwed up post-it notes that lined the surface. He kicked the bin back under the desk angrily, dropping into his seat as Winnie peeped her head around the doorway.

“So that’s the famous Anne?” she grinned, strolling back to the desk.

“Yep, that was her,” he replied gruffly.

“Where did she go?” Winnie asked, ogling Gilbert suspiciously, his mood much darker than how she had left him, and glancing around for any sign that the girl had ever been there in the first place.

“What does it matter?” he sighed wearily, sinking back against the leather. “Right, where were we? Oh yes! One-week holiday to a foreign country or a four-week holiday around your own country?”

Winnie returned to her chair, crossing her legs and tapping her hands rhythmically against her knees. He was putting on a brave face, she was sure of it. If she wasn’t mistaken, Gilbert Blythe was heartbroken but she wouldn’t ask him about it if he didn’t offer.

“All expenses paid?” she asked instead.

“Obviously.”

“One-week holiday to a foreign country. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Paris.”

**********

By half five the rain had blown over, the sky a dull grey but the pavements dry, and Gilbert slipped into the toilets, changing from his jeans into his running gear, tying his trainers tightly and stuffing his clothes into his bag. Winnifred had left fifteen minutes before, Gilbert insisting that he didn’t mind ensuring the lights were switched off and the doors were locked. She had been good company for the rest of the day, laughing brightly and shooting him quick-witted one-liners that dragged him out of his darkened mood and distracted him from the call of the book that had been dropped in the waste-paper basket; singing to him like a siren calling a sailor into the sea. But there was nothing he could do about that now. Winnie had emptied the bins; collecting the rubbish from the wicker basket beside Dr Ward’s desk and the three that were peppered among the plastic covered chairs in the waiting area before hauling it out to the alleyway that ran behind the old building and tossing it into the large bins there. He wouldn’t be able to get it now, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t. There was nothing in it that he needed to hear; he knew what she wanted to say through it. _I’m with Roy now, Gilbert. Have a nice life._

He flicked off the lights in the office, glancing around the room one last time to ensure everything was neat and ready for opening on Monday before closing the door on himself and locking it, tucking the key into his pocket. He slung his headphones from around his neck and up over his ears, blasting music with a steady beat as he began his run home. This was a habit now, going for his run straight after work. It worked out any of the stresses of the day, his feet rhythmically hammering against the pavement as he looped through the park, taking in the trees and the grass; the old bandstand and the pond. He would take the long way home today, he decided, an unexpected visit from Anne triggering more tension within him than he was anticipating the day to deliver. He had thought he would sit hunched over the paper, answer the phone to some patients, chat lightly with Winnie before going about their end of day tasks; filing reports, sealing the sharps bins, rubbing down the dust from the desk and the coffee tables, organising the magazines. Instead, he felt his mind raced all day, each jangle of the bell or tinkle of the telephone causing him to sit bolt upright, holding his breath in case it was her, the three words that he was desperate to hear spilling from her lips, but it never was.

His lungs burned as he ran, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he turned onto his street, stopping at his gate and checking his watch to check his time. 30 minutes; he had beat yesterday. He stretched his right leg before him, pressing down on the opposite knee to loosen the muscle before swapping over, pressing two fingers to the pulse-point just below his jaw and feeling the rapid beat of his blood as it raced around his body. It came back naturally to him, running; the muscle memory meaning he didn’t exert as easily as he expected but his heart raced afterwards. He smiled to himself; the only time his heart had ever raced faster was when he was with Anne; when she crowded his space, stepping so close to him that he could smell the scent of her skin, wildflowers and fresh thyme. Or when they would be in her room and she would collapse beside him, her head finding the crook of his neck and burrowing there, his chin nestling amongst the strands and he closed his eyes and imagined how it would feel to be able to snuggle her close to him, to move her hand above his heart and let her know how she affected him. Or when her gaze lingered on his, drawn into a trance that rendered them both speechless, the only sound Gilbert could hear being her soft breaths and the blood that pounded in his ears.

He shook his hands, circling his wrists and ankles before heading towards the house, his mind grappling for something else, any thing else, to think of. He couldn’t spend all evening dreaming of her; it hurt too much.

“Well, hello there,” Bash grinned as he pushed into the kitchen, greeted by the smell of chicken coated in curry powder and fresh coriander frying on the pan.

Gilbert’s brow wrinkled, his eyes crinkling in confusion at Bash’s bright eyes and large, toothy smile. “Ugh, hello?”

The pattering of little feet as they scurried up the hall distracted him from Bash’s ecstatic expression, Dellie bursting into the kitchen with Muriel following behind. She reached her arms up to him, crying “Uncle Gilby!”

“Dellie!” He slung his bag to the floor, tearing his headphones from his hair and sweeping the three-year-old up for a cuddle, snuggling her against his chest.

“I was playing cars,” she garbled.

“Oh wow! Can I play?” he asked her, his fingers tickling at her tummy before placing her firmly back to the floor and taking her hand, allowing her to lead him through to the sitting room where she thrust a blue plastic car into his hands.

“Excuse me, do you have nothing to say to us?” Bash joked as he followed them down the hall, settling against the door jamb and watching Gilbert spin the wheels of the car in his hand distractedly as Dellie showed him how fast hers could race, sending it speeding across the floorboards with a forceful push.

“What am I supposed to say?” Gilbert asked, his face furrowing quizzically.

“Anything strange happen at work?” Bash prompted. “Any _visitors?”_

Gilbert’s face fell. They knew.

“There might have been,” he replied stoically.

“Aw, come on, Blythe.” Bash waved the wooden spoon he still carried at him, droplets of the curry mixture splashing to the floor. “We’ve been waiting all day. What did she say?”

Gilbert sighed, climbing to his feet. “She didn’t say anything.”

“Not possible. She was positively bursting when she arrived here. She almost told me.”

“She didn’t _say_ anything. She gave me a book, that was all.”

“And what did the book say?” Muriel urged, her hands slipping around Bash’s waist as she eyed Gilbert excitedly.

“I didn’t read it,” he answered truthfully. “I threw it out.”

Bash’s face fell, his jaw falling slack and his mouth gaping open as Gilbert pushed past him, heading for the stairs.

“You binned it?” he questioned.

“I do believe that’s what throwing it out means,” Gilbert, quipped, glancing back at the two adults in the doorway, both looking at him like he had lost his mind.

“Look, I glanced through it and trust me, it didn’t say what you think it said,” he reassured them.

“But you can’t be sure,” Muriel argued.

“No, I’m sure. She had written about Roy. It was an apology, that was all. She was just clearing her conscience.”

“You know she’s not like that, Blythe,” Bash uttered, his voice low and his eyes soft. He watched as Gilbert straightened his shoulders, jutting his chin out defiantly. He was protecting himself, Bash realised. A second rejection would be too much for him.

“It doesn’t really matter though, does it? If she wanted to say anything, she could have said it. I was standing right there,” Gilbert argued and then he shrugged in what he hoped was a relaxed way, despite the tension simmering beneath the surface of his skin, that drew the muscles in his neck and shoulders taut.

“Why don’t you ring her?” Muriel suggested.

Gilbert laughed hollowly. “I don’t want to ring her!” he cried. “If she had have wanted to speak to me, she could have. It didn’t need to be written down. I’m going to the shower now, if the Spanish inquisition is over.”

And he stomped up the stairs, yanking his sweatshirt from his body and hurling it furiously towards the laundry basket, twisting the dial to switch on the shower, the water streaming from the showerhead. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, a groan of frustration ripping through him; frustration at the adults downstairs who never knew when to quit and when their input wasn’t wanted and frustration at himself for tossing the book out in the first place. Bash and Muriel’s probing questions had allowed something to settle in him that he didn’t want; something that felt like doubt. Something that felt like he had made a mistake and everything wasn’t quite what he believed it to be.

**********

Anne carried a tea tray through the hallway and into the sitting room at Green Gables, placing it on the oak coffee table, Diana following closely behind with a carafe filled with chilled water infused with mint and lemon, a stack of drinking glasses balancing in her other hand.

It was Wednesday afternoon and the girls and Cole had piled into Diana’s little blue beetle and Jane’s yellow Fiat and had sped towards Anne’s house, all garbling excitedly about plans for Anne’s birthday party that was to be held that weekend.

They had settled in the living room, Diana pulling a floral print notebook from her bag as they listed what needed to be organised before the weekend.

“So, Cole, you’re in charge of balloons and Jane, you’re doing the music,” she listed, marking neat ticks against her list.

“I am,” Cole agreed.

“I genuinely wouldn’t trust anyone else with the music,” Jane grinned, snorting loudly as Tillie and Ruby attacked her with cushions.

“Marilla is organising refreshments and Anne has done the invitations,” Diana continued. “Have they all been given out?” she asked, shooting Anne a glance from under her lashes.

Anne flushed and nodded. She had written her invitations on Sunday, distracting herself from the crushing pain in her chest when she had had no phone call from Gilbert; no sharp rap of knuckles against the door revealing a breathless boy with a serious expression, asking if she had meant what she had written. He had ignored her book; he had read it and obviously didn’t want her anymore. Not that Anne was surprised. He looked so comfortable with Winnie and she was so beautiful and obviously intelligent; a wicked twinkle to her eyes that made Anne think she would have a mischievous sense of humour. Anne imagined that would suit him quite well. And if that’s what he wanted she would be happy for him; despite the pain it caused in her chest; a sharp stab of a knife that tore through her, and the tears that welled in her eyes, almost as though they had a mind of their own, springing forth at the most inopportune moments.

She had been deflated when she arrived home on Saturday, Marilla waiting in the kitchen for her and enveloping her into a hug when Anne informed her that he didn’t want her anymore; that he had moved on.

“I suppose love doesn’t conquer all,” she murmured into her mother’s chest, silent tears slipping from her lash line and tracing the curve of her cheek, Marilla shushing her softly as she smoothed back her hair from her temples.

She had told Diana on Sunday what had happened between them when she arrived at Dr Ward’s office; how she felt she had stumbled upon something she wasn’t meant to see. She had spent the full day waiting for him to materialise before her and debating whether she should write him an invite to her birthday party. She decided, on Diana’s advice, that she should and then worried all day Monday about having to give it to him. But, as luck would have it, she had only seen him in class, his eyes brushing over her briefly before he ducked his head, burrowing his nose into the book he had opened before him. She had given the invite to Bash instead, addressing it to the _Blythe-Lacroix-Stacy’s,_ and posting it into their letterbox, Bash texting her his RSVP, telling her he would love to be there and see his Queen Anne turn 18.

“They’ve all been given out,” she confirmed and Diana nodded decisively. “And has everyone RSVP’d?”

“Not _everyone,”_ Anne admitted and Diana reached out and took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “All’s not lost yet, Anne. He’ll come to his senses eventually.”

The others nodded in agreement, Jane twirling a strand of Anne’s hair and Tillie rubbing at her arm.

News of Roy and Cole had broken on Monday morning and, naturally, the gang were equal parts confused and elated. _When had this happened?_ Cole blushed, explaining how Roy had arrived at his door on Friday evening and they held hands and shared a kiss. _Was Cole happy?;_ a question which made him laugh and exclaim, “indescribably so.” _But what happened with Anne?_ And at that, Cole snorted and cried, “Well, she’s in love with Gilbert, of course,” before clamping his hands to his mouth, his eyes wide with surprise at the great blunder he had made.

The girls all turned to Anne, their faces white with surprise but split with grins.

“I knew it!” Ruby cried before wagging her finger at the others. “You all owe me $10 each!”

“You made a bet?” Anne asked, her face ashen.

“Well, yeah?” Jane shrugged. “But after such a colossal fall out I really thought you guys were done.”

At that Anne dropped her gaze to her hands, a tear slipping from her cheek as she watched her fingers agitatedly pick at her cuticles. “We are,” she admitted sadly. “I wrote to him and he never acknowledged it. I think that means we’re done.”

Diana clapped her hands decisively, distracting Anne from her thoughts of her friends faces when they found out how she felt about him, Diana returning to her list. “And Anne’s outfit is done. Marilla is sewing it and you should see it, Anne. Ugh! It’s stunning. Alright, I think that is everything taken care off.”

She shut her book with a snap and posted it back into her bag.

“And it’s ok for me to bring Fred, isn’t it?” she asked Anne, her eyes wide and searching. Anne liked Fred; he and Diana were sweet together, stupidly affectionate with each other, but Anne knew that Diana was still wary after their fallout over Jerry. Anne squeezed her hand and smiled.

“Of course. I would be offended if he wasn’t there,” and she smiled bravely.

It seemed all her friends would be coupled up at her birthday party; Diana and Fred would spend the evening cuddling, Moody spinning Ruby on the dance floor all night, Cole and Roy sneaking off into the shadows behind the house to pepper each other with kisses. Josie and Jane would spend all evening together, laughing loudly as they danced, Josie snapping pictured for her Instagram while Jane beat every boy that challenged her in a drinking game; the two willingly single ladies in their group, enjoying their own company more than anyone else’s. And Tillie would be courted by her Paul of the week, him fussing and preening over her while the other watched on angrily. She would be alone; everyone else enjoying her party so much more than she could, standing alone, waiting for a shock of dark hair to dance above the crowd, the sea of her friends and family parting to reveal Gilbert hidden amongst them. But that wouldn’t happen. That was a birthday wish that wouldn’t come true.

She was dragged from her reverie by Tillie, who sighed loudly.

“I wish I had a boyfriend,” she said mournfully, the other girls giggling at her frowning face and downturned pout.

“You have the pick of two,” Jane shot, giggling. “Don’t be greedy.”

Tillie crossed her arms over her chest, huffing and pouting playfully. “I’ll have you know my days of playing the field are over,” she announced. “I told the Pauls we were done on Tuesday after I found them stuffing my locker full of love notes. It gets a bit much, you know,” she grinned and draped herself over the arm of the chair she was settled in, “being this desirable.”

“You’re done?” Cole asked and his face broke into a grin. “Oh, thank God, because those two were absolute knuckle-heads.”

“Sad to say it but I agree,” Jane quipped, the others mumbling their affirmations of the sentiment.

Tillie giggled. “What? None of you liked them?” she squealed. “Not even a little?”

“Not even a little,” Anne confirmed. “I never forgave them for how horrible they were to me my first year here. Do you remember they teased me about my hair constantly?”

“Well, you forgave Gilbert quick enough,” Tillie shot back but the wide smile slipped from her face when she realised what she had said and who she had dragged into their conversation. “Oh, Anne…I’m sorry.”

Anne smiled tightly from her spot on the rug. “No, no – don’t be. He’s not my friend anymore but that doesn’t mean he’s not yours,” she rambled, feeling choked by the sympathy that poured from her friends’ eyes. She scratched her head distractedly, grappling for something to come to her that would steer the conversation away from her and Gilbert, finally settling on Tillie’s boyfriend problem.

“Tillie,” she began, finding her friend’s face and smiling sweetly. “I think I may just know someone who could solve your boyfriend problem, if you wouldn’t have any objections to a set up?”

“Oh, really?” Tillie quizzed. “Well, who is it?”

Anne’s eyes found Diana’s and Diana grinned and nodded.

“It’s Jerry,” Anne admitted. “And you have it on good authority that he is the sweetest. Tremendously kind and really charming.”

“And a pretty good kisser,” Diana added, blooming bright red and collapsing against the cushions that surrounded her as the others giggled at her outburst.

**********

Gilbert Blythe was glad to see the end of the week; the bell that trilled at half three marking the end of the school week and his purposeful avoidance of Anne. He had spent the week hidden in the library during break and lunchtimes, knowing she would be with her friends in the canteen, Roy’s arm looped around her waist, and that would have hurt Gilbert too much to see. Instead, he settled at the desk furthest from the crotchety librarian, perusing the shelves that lined the walls and dragging out volumes on medical research and human anatomy, taking messy notes from each book and scribbling out diagrams of the human body; the respiratory system, the digestive system, the reproductive system. He slammed the book shut and drummed his fingers against the cover, chin propped up on his elbow.

It seemed as much as he tried this week, he couldn’t shake thoughts of Anne from his head. She danced there constantly, twirling and pirouetting like she had at Hallowe’en in front of the bonfire the night of Josie Pye’s birthday. He had thought he had gotten control of this on Sunday afternoon and spent Monday wandering around school, attempting to be unbothered by her presence in each class and the feeling of her eyes boring into the back of his head but when he returned home from his internship on Monday he allowed his feelings to get the better of him again, Bash waving a cream envelope decorated in pale pink roses before him.

“From dear Queen Anne,” he had explained, before thrusting the envelope into Gilbert’s hands. He lifted the invitation from inside it with trembling fingers, his eyes scanning over the words. It was an invitation to her birthday party that weekend; his name included on the list. He shook his head disbelievingly, tucking the paper back inside the envelope and slipping it onto the table.

“I’m not going,” he announced, his chest a storm of conflicting emotions. She wanted him there; that was good right? Did that mean he still had a chance? Of course, he didn’t, how could he be so foolish. Didn’t he see her throw her arms around Roy’s neck in a greeting when he had skulked through the hallway just that morning? Hadn’t she had every opportunity to let him know she had wanted him all along if she had?

“Not going?” Bash parroted, perplexed. “But it’s her birthday, kid. You can still be friends with her, right?”

“Nope,” he answered stubbornly. “I won’t be there.”

But the closer the weekend came, the more he wrestled with his resolve, his heart aching to be there with her, to hug her close and whisper _happy birthday_ to her like he did every other year as her eyes shone with excitement and shimmered with all the possibilities this new year would hold for her. He licked his lips distractedly, sighing loudly which gained a sharp look from the librarian as she hissed, “Quiet, over there.”

“Sorry,” he answered, standing from his seat and lifting the books from before him, placing them back onto their respective shelves. He regretted it all now; ever saying it in the first place, those stupid, feckless words tumbling from him like a river spilling over a precipice, crashing into the rocks below, spray foaming at the impact. He wished he could swallow them back up; wasn’t it better to have her as a friend than not at all? But that could never happen; she would be uncomfortable around him now. He would hold her back from living her life, fear of hurting him stopping her taking chances on someone new; on allowing herself to fall in love.

He packed up his pencil case and notes, tucking them into his backpack and thanking the librarian before making his way out into the hallway, students spilling from classrooms and bustling towards the doorway, soaking up the early March sunshine and the anticipation of fun weekend plans.

“Hey!” he heard someone call behind him and turned to see Moody and Charlie lollop his way. “Where have you been all week?” Moody asked, clapping his shoulder. “We’ve barely seen you at all.”

“Ugh, I had some work to catch up on,” he explained.

“Well, we have news,” Moody teased, turning him roughly by the shoulders and pulling him into a less crowded area of the corridor, tucked underneath a staircase. “Anne and Roy are done.”

Gilbert’s brow furrowed. “Not possible,” he laughed.

“Yes, possible,” Charlie drawled.

“Turns out Roy and Cole were a thing this whole time. Who knew?” Moody cried.

“I knew,” Charlie quipped as Gilbert glanced between their faces; Moody’s eyes wide with excitement, Charlie’s as docile as ever.

“When?” Gilbert choked out.

“Friday night, apparently.”

Gilbert shook his head. But what did it mean? She had arrived at Dr Ward’s on Saturday with that blasted book he had binned; the book he had never read. He had just assumed the story that was penned in her pretty hand had been about her and Roy; it had fallen open to that page. But what if he had been wrong? What if there was an element to the tale that he had missed?

“Do you think I could shoot my shot now?” Charlie garbled, drawing Gilbert out of his thoughts. Moody stared at Charlie; his face contorted with confusion.

“I kind of wasn’t suggesting it for you?” Moody clarified, shooting a comical glance at Gilbert.

“But she’s had a week now and nothing has happened between her and Gil,” Charlie justified, looking pointedly at Gilbert and saying, “No offense, man, but if she wanted you don’t you think she would have done something about it?”

Gilbert shrugged defeatedly. Yes, he supposed she would have. If she had have wanted him, a whole week had passed that gave her plenty of opportunities to let him know. He just had to make peace with it…she wasn’t for him and he wasn’t for her. Maybe he was meant to be alone; he wasn’t someone who desperately needed another person’s company, although he did get lonely sometimes. But he was mainly lonely without Anne. She was who he always wanted to talk to.

“So, what do you reckon? Should I ask if I could walk home with her?” Charlie asked and Moody scoffed noisily, rolling his eyes.

“Sure,” Gilbert choked. “Why not?”

“Cool.” Charlie grinned, skipping from under the staircase and out into the crowd, Moody and Gilbert following him reluctantly.

“Anne. Anne!” he called after her and she stilled, turning with something that looked like hope flitting across her pretty features before her eyes dulled and the corners of her lips downturned.

“Charlie?”

“Can I walk you home?” Charlie asked, his feet shuffling nervously.

Gilbert swallowed back as Anne’s eyes scanned past Charlie and rested on him; his heart beating wildly in his chest as her gaze trailed from his hair to his feet and back to his eyes. He shifted beneath it, her ocean blue gaze causing his skin to tingle as it enveloped him, before she drew away, leaving him cold.

“Alright,” she answered and Charlie grinned, his face beaming brightly as though he had just won the lottery.

He caught up to her side, both of them striding purposefully towards the exit.

“Dude…” Moody mumbled under his breath but Gilbert didn’t look at him.

His eyes were focussed on Anne and how she glanced back over her shoulder towards him, her face wearing a pained expression. Almost as pained as he felt.

**********

Winnifred Rose rubbed a damp cloth over the top of the reception desk in Dr Ward’s office, collecting any particles of dust that had settled on the polished wood during the day. It was the end of another sleepy Saturday shift; sleepier than most due to Gilbert being more reserved than usual. They japed and teased and the time passed quickly normally, but he was solemn today, Winnie catching him staring out the window, his chin propped in his hand.

“Penny for them?” she had asked and he chuckled darkly and shook his head.

“It’s nothing.”

The only interaction anyone had gotten from him had been the patients who bustled into the office, grumbling about not wanting to have to wait too long and receiving a friendly hello and a charming smile as he checked them in and eased their worries. He would be a brilliant doctor, Winnie mused; his bedside manner would be second to none. But for now, he was just a boy with something big playing on his mind; a secret that he locked up inside himself and allowed to dominate him.

Winnie watched him as she cleaned around the computer, stacking their appointment book and logs into a neat pile. He was brushing the floor, his arms moving methodically as he swept the broom back and forth over the linoleum floor, his shoulders sloped, his teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

Winnie glanced at the clock; it was getting closer and closer to the time Anne’s birthday party was to commence. They had chattered about her party the day before, Winnie knowing about it through her friend Prissy. Her sister Jane was friends with Anne and Anne had been good enough to extend the invite to Prissy only it had clashed with her plans for the same night. Winnie had asked him if he was going and he rubbed his eyes distractedly and mumbled that he wouldn’t be.

“Why not?” Winnie had questioned and he shrugged and murmured something about it hurting too much but when Winnie had asked him to clarify what he had said, he looked at her squarely and said, “She wouldn’t want me there.”

Winnie believed otherwise but if Gilbert was anything, it was determined to steer himself off course; to make things more complicated than they had to be.

Her hand collided with a pen pot, the contents clattering to the ground.

“Oh, shoot,” she grumbled, drawing her gaze from Gilbert and to the stationery that had rolled along the floor. She dropped her cloth, falling to her knees and picking up the pens one-by-one, laying them onto the desk above her. She crawled under the desk to reach one that had rolled towards the wires that tangled underneath reception and as she grabbed it she noticed a waste-paper basket kicked against the wood, tucked right into the corner of the space underneath. She reached out for it, hauling it from where it was wedged and wondering how she hadn’t noticed it earlier. It must have lay there unemptied all week.

It felt heavy in her hands as she stood to empty it into the black, plastic bag she had had collected the rest of the waste in, peering in to see what was causing the weight. Her brow furrowed as she noticed a heavy, brown leather notebook lying among a handful of fluorescent coloured post-its crushed up at the bottom. She lifted it out, dropping the bin to her feet and turning the book around in her hands.

She wondered if it was a patient’s but surely if it had had been left behind and was important she or Gilbert would have slipped it into a drawer in case the rightful owner returned. She thumbed the book open, looking for contact details and instead finding pages and pages of beautifully scripted prose; a story of Anne and Gilbert. The pages flicked beneath her thumb, settling eventually on the very first, an inscription written to the boy who stood just feet from Winnie now. She glanced up at him, closing the book and calling out to him.

“Gilbert?” He turned to her; his eyebrows curved into a questioning look. “Is this yours?”

“Uhm, yeah,” he replied, shifting under her stare, the shaft of the brush moving from one hand to the other and back.

“What is it doing in the bin?” she asked.

“I didn’t want it.”

“Didn’t want it? Did you read it?” she asked him, tuning the book over in her hands.

“No.”

“I think you should.”

He shook his head. “I don’t need to read it. I know what it’s going to say.”

“I don’t think you do,” she pressed and at the roll of his eyes she shrugged, “but suit yourself.”

He returned to his task, shoving the brush under the chairs and dragging out dust, a handful of pennies and a used tissue that had collected there. 

Winnie lifted the bin again, emptying it into the refuse bag she had filled and tucking it back under the desk. She lifted the book, turning back to the bag and tossing it in; he didn’t want it, there was no point in her keeping it. She carried the bag out into the street, around the side of the office and into the thin strip of alleyway that ran behind Dr Ward’s building. She lifted the lid of the industrial bin there with a clatter and lifted the bag to lob it in among the rubbish when she paused, dropping the bag to her side again and tearing open the knot she had tied. She couldn’t throw it away; he needed to read it.

She lifted the book from among the rubbish and binned the bag, carrying the tome close to her chest protectively and slipping past Gilbert into the staff area at the back of the waiting room. She found his rucksack, opening the zip and tucking the book in among his running gear, pushing it down to the bottom so it would be hidden from immediate view. She grinned, pulling on her own coat and buttoning it up, slinging her own bag across her shoulders. Gilbert and Anne would happen; she had just made sure of that.

Gilbert waved Winnie off, taking responsibility for locking up once more. He went to change into his running gear but decided against it. He would walk home today; a nice long walk that looped through the park, the fresh air breezing through him and blowing any of the dark thoughts from his head. He slung his bag onto his shoulders, heavier than he remembered it, and set off, locking the door behind him.

Gilbert had been in a foul mood since yesterday; since Anne had walked home with Charlie. He snapped at Bash when he arrived home and barely spoke to Winnie all day. It just hurt him to speak. Everybody was sympathetic but he didn’t want sympathy; it made it worse. He _wanted_ Anne and no amount of sympathy was going to bring him that.

He wondered how the book had managed to remain in the office all week. He had binned it last Saturday; imagining it had been thrown out by Winnie then, but as she held it up before him, his stomach fluttered; his heart constricting. He wanted to tear it open then and there, read through it and see all she had to say but there wasn’t much point. He couldn’t imagine it holding good news; he couldn’t imagine anything in that book would say what he wanted to hear.

He lapped the park three times, weaving through the mothers with prams and the dads throwing balls to their children on the manicured lawns before deciding it was time to return home; dusk was starting to settle over Avonlea and Bash would want to see him before he, Muriel and Dellie headed over to Green Gables for Anne’s birthday party.

He wandered up the path to his house, twisting his key in the door and pushing it open.

“Where have you been?” Bash asked him, exasperatedly. “You were supposed to be home 2 hours ago. I was worried sick!”

“I went for a walk,” Gilbert answered feebly.

“Can you not answer your damn phone? We’re running late now.”

Bash drew Dellie to him, pulling her coat on over the golden coloured party dress with a full tulle skirt. Gilbert smiled at her, her hair arranged into two sweet little bunches, a sparkly ribbon tied around the crown of her head. Muriel’s doing, no doubt. Dellie was much better dressed now, Gilbert and Bash normally despairing over how to arrange her hair or what shoes went with what dress. Muriel appeared in the doorway, smiling brightly.

“There you are,” she fussed. “Are you sure you’re not coming? It’s not too late to change your mind?”

Bash glanced at him, a look of hope in his eyes. “No, I’m not going,” he answered. “But you guys enjoy your night and kiss her happy birthday for me.”

Muriel stroked his arm comfortingly before collecting her car keys, ushering Bash and Dellie out the door.

“Enjoy your night,” Bash called, “and there’s dinner in the microwave for you!”

When the house was quiet, Gilbert heated his plate, carrying it to the sitting room and collapsing in front of the television, swallowing down his food as he watched an episode of _Blue Planet_ , the turmoil inside him feeling soothed by the dulcet tones of David Attenborough. And when the credits rolled, he carried his plate to the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the wall while he washed the dishes. It was already after eight thirty. Well, that hour passed easily enough and he had only thought about Anne a handful of times; if that wasn’t progress he didn’t know what was.

He would catch up on some schoolwork; that would fill his evening, he thought, lifting his backpack from the ground and marvelling, once again, at how weighty it felt. He opened the zipper, his hand delving down amongst the shoes and clothes, when his hand brushed against something unfamiliar; firm yet smooth. What was that?

He closed his fingers around the spine and pulled the book from his bag, frozen with shock at how it had managed to get inside his bag when a thought struck him; Winnifred. She had been so insistent that he read it; she must have put it there. He dropped the bag to the floor, turning the book over in his hands, tracing along the spine with his fingertips, his heart in his throat at what it would say; what it held that she felt so imperative that he read.

He curled his fingers around the hardback cover and flicked the book open, an inscription on the very first page:

_To Gilbert Blythe,_

_I don’t want sunbursts or marble halls. I just want you._

_All my love_

_Anne_

Gilbert allowed the words to fill him up, flow through his veins as vital as his blood. His heart hammered; his lips dry. A week; he had gone a week with this book lying in a bin, Anne thinking that he had read it and hadn’t wanted her. After all this time, all the devotion he held for her in his heart, she thought he no longer _needed_ her; that his heart was no longer hers. He needed to see her. And it needed to be now.

He slipped into his coat, fumbling with the buttons, tucking the book under his arm, before he threw open the door and out into the night.

And he ran, receiving wild looks from the late-night dog-walkers and Saturday night revellers that he passed.

He ran towards Green Gables.

He ran towards her.

**********

Anne was having a horrible time. And what’s worse, she was having a horrible time at her own birthday party.

She had woken up early and instead of the fizz of excitement that bubbled within her at the anticipation of birthday gifts and the party that she and her friends had meticulously planned, she felt numbed; morose. She had dragged herself from her bed, wrapping herself in her fluffy dressing gown and shuffling to the kitchen where Matthew and Marilla greeted her, cheering “Happy Birthday, Anne!” as she entered.

She smiled weakly at them. “Thank you,” she replied, accepting the kisses they had dropped to her cheek and opening their thoughtful gifts with appreciative ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’; Matthew slipping her a gift box that held a delicate silver chain, with a sweet straw bonnet hanging from it.

“For my little girl in a straw sun hat. The original Anne,” he smiled at her, linking the chain around her wrist as she gasped at how beautiful it was, fingering the charm; a little straw hat like the one she would have worn in the sun when she was eleven. She smiled at Matthew, tears in both their eyes. “She’s all grown up now.”

Anne pulled him close for a hug and they settled down to a breakfast banquet, Marilla laying the table with cream and jam to go with freshly baked scones, waffles with honey and fluffy, golden pancakes, bowls of fresh fruit adding colour to the display. And despite how tempting everything looked, Anne ate very little, the food hitting her stomach and making her feel nauseous. She didn’t realise there were so many symptoms heart break induced; they forgot to leave that element out of her books. All she ever read about were the happily ever afters but not everybody received one of those. Marilla certainly hadn’t and she wasn’t going to either; another Cuthbert and Blythe who just weren’t meant to be.

She had spent the afternoon with Diana, Cole and Roy, stringing up balloons and bunting, the boys pushing the furniture against the walls in the sitting room to make room for dancing, Diana and Anne aiding Marilla with the food and refreshments. And soon enough, everything was ready and waiting for the guests and Marilla and Diana dragged Anne up the stairs to get her ready.

Diana forced her in front of her mirror, heating a curling wand and wrapping thick strands of hair around it, forming large barrel curls.

“You don’t seem yourself today, Anne,” Diana observed as she twisted Anne’s hair around her fingers until the curl set and then allowing it to drop down her back.

“I don’t _feel_ myself today,” Anne answered, fresh tears prickling at her eyes.

“Oh no, don’t cry,” Diana soothed, dabbing at Anne’s eyes. “Today is meant to be happy.”

Anne sniffed, nodding as she wiped the burning tears away. It was meant to be happy but she hadn’t felt particularly happy since yesterday. Since Charlie Sloane had asked Anne to walk home and Gilbert Blythe had let him. He mustn’t love her anymore after all. At least she had her answer.

“You know what? He is not ruining today for you,” Diana shot. “ _Fuck_ Gilbert Blythe.”

Anne laughed wetly at Diana’s furious face, her cheeks rosy red and her mouth warped into an angry little line. 

“Say it with me,” Diana pressed. “ _Fuck_ Gil…”

They were interrupted by a soft knock to the door, Marilla peeking around the door jamb.

“May I intrude?” she asked, her eyes alight with excitement.

Anne nodded, “Of course.”

Marilla bustled into the room; a garment bag draped over her arm. She hooked it to the top if Anne’s wardrobe and turned to the girls, beaming.

“Are we ready to get dressed?” she asked and Diana jabbed a pin into Anne’s head, fastening her bouncy waves into an intricate half-up, half-down hairstyle, Anne turning her face from side to side, analysing her reflection. It was beautiful, swept back from her forehead with a pretty twist and looped delicately at the back.

“Alright, I’m ready,” she grinned, turning to Marilla, who unzipped the garment bag with a proud flourish, the bag falling open to reveal a beautiful azure blue dress made in a soft velvet. Anne gasped, rising from her seat and rushing to Marilla, throwing her arms around her in a tight hug.

“Thank you so much,” she murmured, pulling back and allowing the fabric to flow beneath her fingertips. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It’ll be even more beautiful on you,” Marilla gushed, slipping the dress from the hanger as Anne discarded her dressing gown, Marilla slipping the dress over her head and fastening the zipper at the back, securing it with a hook and eye. Anne studied her reflection; the strapless bodice fitting closely to her body, nipping in at her neat waist before flaring over her hips into a full skirt that twirled around her knees when she moved, covered in delicate embroidery; white and golden blooms handstitched lovingly by Marilla. Anne felt like a princess as she turned this way and that, the dress demurely resting against her mid-calf.

“Anne, you’re beautiful,” Diana whispered, wiping a tear from her eye.

She laughed heartily. “Oh, don’t be soppy,” she giggled but she stole another glance at her reflection. She felt beautiful but it was bittersweet; the very boy she wished could see her like this probably wouldn’t care.

Green Gables was crammed with people as the party began; Anne’s friends and family, their neighbours. People who knew and loved the pretty red head but she held her breath for a miracle. Bash hadn’t arrived yet and if he wasn’t here that meant all hope wasn’t lost; that meant that Gilbert might still arrive. That he might still love her and make this the happiest birthday she would have.

Anne had circulated around her guests, chatting politely and allowing herself to be drawn onto the makeshift dancefloor, Jane and Josie twirling her to the music but her smiles felt forced, the amount of people in her living room suffocating. The only good that had come from the night so far was that Tillie and Jerry seemed to have hit it off, Jerry asking Tillie to dance, holding his hand out to her with a slight bow like they were stars in a period drama, Tillie blushing prettily at the attention. She was used to being fussed over and pawed at but she never had someone be so respectful before and it made her heart flip-flop in her chest.

As Anne watched Jerry grin as he led Tillie by the hand onto the dancefloor, a hand settled on her back, warmth spreading through her from the contact. She felt herself stiffen, eyes wide and hopeful as she turned to see who was behind her and her face dropping when she found Bash there, grinning at her.

“Happy birthday, Queen Anne,” he yelled over the music, giving her a hasty hug and dropping a kiss to her cheek. “That was from Gilbert,” he winked.

Anne’s face fell. “He didn’t come?”

“I’m sorry,” Bash replied, his warm brown eyes sympathetic.

“It’s alright. Please excuse me.” And she pushed through the crowd, elbowing past her friends who called out to her, past Marilla and Matthew who shared concerned glances, and out into the night air, settling on the porch and staring up at the stars, a sad smile on her face.

Her eighteenth birthday; a day that should have been so happy and yet her heart was broken, throbbing in her chest. She would have traded it all for him just to have turned up; the party and the dress, all the gifts and well wishes.

She drew her knees close to her, dropping her head to rest upon them, letting the pain wash over her, a tear slipping from her eye and rolling across the curve of her cheek. She wasn’t sure how long she stayed there; it could have been an hour but nobody had looked for her or noticed she was missing, the party inside a raging success. She had already had ‘ _Happy Birthday’_ sang to her, the chorus of clumsy voices filling up the house and when she closed her eyes tightly, leaning over the buttercream frosted cake decorated with fresh flowers and leaves and delicate pinecones, only one wish came to her mind; ‘ _I wish Gilbert Blythe was here.’_

She shifted slightly at an intrusion to her solace; a steady thump, thump, thump that seemed to slow as it neared.

She lifted her head, her lips parting slightly when her eyes met Gilbert Blythe at the foot of her garden, his chest heaving, his eyes shifting over her and to the windows of the house, before locking onto her again, his free hand finding his pocket and burrowing there, the other hand clutching a book. Her book, she realised with a start, springing to her feet.

She stepped from the porch as she watched him walk towards her, the warm, honeyed hazel of his eyes glowing tenderly; the look of love that he wore so often, that swirled around her and hugged her close.

He stilled a few steps from her, lifting the book in his hand, his expression serious.

“What is this?” he asked, his voice husky but earnest, and Anne glanced between him and the book in his hand.

“I would think you know what a book looks like,” she answered, gulping back as her gaze rested on him; his handsome face, that little furrow at his brow that she wanted to smooth with her thumb.

He stepped closer to her, a small movement that made her heart race.

“But why did you write it?”

“Didn’t you read it?”

“Only the inscription,” he admitted.

“Then I think you know why I wrote it.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her skin goose-pimpling at the look he gave her, his eyes roaming over her as a soft smile played on his lips.

“I don’t have land…” His voice was low and velvety, the sound of it like magic to Anne, every syllable bewitching her. He took another step toward her and she felt her stomach flutter, the butterflies that had laid dormant for a week awakening again in a flurry of beating wings.

“You have an orchard.”

“I don’t make 12 thousand a year.” He stepped closer again; close enough that if Anne reached out she could touch him.

“Maybe someday.”

“I don’t have a mad wife hidden in the attic,” he chuckled, his hand brushing at the back of his neck self-consciously.

“I didn’t want her there anyway.”

He smiled, his lips quirking upwards at the corners, exposing that dimple that she so desperately wanted to press a searing kiss to.

His hand dropped to his side, his eyes meeting hers. “Anne, I’m not what you wanted.”

Anne paced nearer to him, bridging the gap between them, so close now she could smell him; the fresh citrus and sea salt that mingled with the masculine scent of his skin. It intoxicated her; his eyes flickering momentarily to her lips. She raised her hand to his cheek, smoothing it over his unblemished skin, her gaze meeting his; those magical, hazel eyes that glowed only for her.

“You _are_ all that I want,” she whispered and he surged forward, his lips finding hers for the second time, the book clutched in his hand dropping to their feet as he claimed her mouth in a passionate kiss; a kiss that told the story of a boy and a girl who were desperately in love; of a pen and a postcard and a serious of unfortunate events that led them from each other but brought them back together, clinging desperately to each other, Gilbert’s hands wrapped around Anne’s waist, his fingers splayed against her back, cradling her against him, their bodies flush. Anne’s arm wrapped around his neck as he leant into the kiss, the other resting above his heart, where she could feel it beat, the hum of her own matching his.

They drew apart, both breathless, Gilbert’s forehead resting against her own, the sweep of his dark eyelashes fanned across his cheeks.

“I love you,” she whispered and his eyes fluttered open, a beaming grin splitting his face.

“I love you too.”

And he tightened his grip around her waist, drawing her close to him again, their lips meshing into a slow, sweet kiss, Gilbert savouring the taste of her; champagne and cherry carmex.

When he drew away, his skin flushed and his lips reddened, his hands slipped from her waist, finding her own and holding them firmly, his thumb brushing gently across the skin. He smiled at her, lifting her hands to his lips, his eyes fluttering closed as he pressed a kiss against her skin. Anne blushed; she had never realised how he had felt about her before that heated declaration and clumsy kiss in her bedroom, but now she did; the devotion he felt towards her twinkling in his eyes like the stars above them, every particle of him radiating love and pressing it into a kiss on her hands.

“Happy birthday, Anne,” he murmured, his thumb tracing her pale, freckled skin.

A thump from the house drew Anne from his gaze, glancing over her shoulder to see Diana pressed to the window, an ecstatic smile on her face after watching the whole exchange. Anne flushed red, her eyes widening as she turned to Gilbert again, burying her face against his chest as he drew her into him, his arms enveloping her protectively.

“So, what now?” he asked, propping his chin atop her head, nestled amongst her fiery red hair.

“How about a date?” Anne asked, her voice muffled into the red plaid coat she loved so much, her hands smoothing the collar flat.

“Right now?” he puzzled. “But your birthday party?”

“I don’t know if I could face that right now, could you?” she asked teasingly, throwing a look over her shoulder towards the house where Diana had gathered a collection of their friends together who stared at them wide-eyed.

“A date it is then,” Gilbert laughed, raising his hand and waving it to them, before taking Anne’s hand in his and twirling her under his arm.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he smiled as Anne entwined her fingers with his, the two of them ambling down the path, Gilbert holding the gate open for her to pass through. “After you.”

“Why, thank you,” she giggled. “So chivalrous.”

And they walked side by side into the night, Anne snaking her arm around his waist, his draped across her shoulders, drawing her too him. She looked up at him, the moonlight dappling against his skin making him appear ethereal, other-worldly as it glowed milky white and he grinned as he glanced down at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead; both of them completely and incandescently happy for the very first time.

**********

It was a glorious Saturday morning, one week since Anne had turned eighteen and Gilbert had arrived at her gate, emerging from the night like a romantic hero stepping from a novel and demanding to know what her book meant, and it had been the happiest week of Anne’s life; her and Gilbert finding that embarking on a relationship with your best friend was easy to do when everybody else knew you were in love except you. When the duration of your friendship had been spent teetering on the precipice of something deeper; all they needed to do was take each other’s hand and allow themselves to fall, finding themselves clinging together during the descent.

Anne smiled down at her tatty, old notebook, her pen scratching as it drawled across the page; Anne had realised that writing a romantic story became so much easier to her now, after retiring her fantasy of a brooding hero with sad, serious eyes and replacing him with hazel eyes and a mischievous smile, the straight black hair cropped to the length of a jaw that could cut glass metamorphosing into thick, chocolate curls and a splendid chin; Wisteria dissolving and Gilbert emerging from the dust. She sighed as she reminisced on their first week as a couple; Gilbert greeting her at the gate at half eight before school like always but instead of the glowing eyes and secret glances he tried to hide, he allowed himself to watch her, his gaze as unwavering as his heart; his face splitting into a grin as she approached him, their lips pressing together in a kiss that Anne felt she would never get used to; that caused her spine to tingle with a trill of electricity.

Their fingers tangled as they walked side-by-side and when Gilbert’s hand found the small of her back, she found she melted into it instead of sitting stiff like she used to, her mind racing with questions about what it meant.

A cough and a shuffle from the boy who she allowed to occupy her thoughts drew her from her head and back into her little gabled room, Anne twisting in her chair to watch him as lay on her bed, his long legs crossed at the ankle, one hand propped behind his head, the other holding open a book; her book. The story of them that he was finally reading.

“You know,” he drawled, glancing at her with a quirk of his eyebrow and a smirk, “I can’t concentrate when you’re eyeballing me like that.”

“I can’t help it,” Anne declared mournfully, standing from her chair and dropping onto the bed beside him, her body curling into his, her hand snaking over his chest and resting atop his heart where she could feel it beat steadily underneath his t-shirt. “You’re just too handsome to not look at,” she sighed dramatically.

He chuckled. “You’re such a dork sometimes." 

“On the contrary,” she pouted, sticking her tongue out at him playfully, her nose wrinkling. “I think only dorks say dork.”

“Is that right?”

“Mmhmm.”

She lay her head against his chest as he lifted his book again, the two falling into a comfortable silence, Gilbert’s fingers teasing lightly at her scalp, Anne’s eyes fluttering closed.

The thud of his book closing jolted Anne from her lazy doze, and she twisted, rolling onto her stomach and resting her head atop her hands that were flat against his chest.

“Well, what did you think?” she asked him teasingly, mocking their book club discussions.

“It was good,” he answered, grinning at her. “The heroine – Anne? – was pretty flighty. Oh boy, can she get things confused.”

“Yes, but everything worked out in the end,” she smiled, intertwining their hands and she pressed a kiss to his palm.

“You’re right, it did.” Gilbert smiled at her, still unable to believe that she was here, cuddled into him with her hand in his; that it wasn’t a fictional fantasy of his own that he willed to be true. That he wasn’t lost in a dream.

“Do you believe in fate?” Anne asked him, turning his palm over in her hand and tracing along the lines there; his life line, fate line, heart line, the brush of her skin on his causing him to tremble.

“I do.”

“Why?”

He chuckled. “Because of all the girls the Cuthberts could have brought to Avonlea, they picked you, the plucky little red head who whacked me with her book. And if that wasn’t fate, I don’t know where we’d be.”

“I think we’d still find each other; you know?” she mused, smiling at him softly. “I don’t think it would matter when it was or where we were, I think we’d still find each other.”

“So do I,” he smiled, dropping a kiss to her lips. “Now, do I get to graduate to the master?” he asked, chuckling as he drew her copy of _Jane Eyre_ from her bedside table.

“No!” Anne cried, wrestling the book from him. “You don’t need to read that. You’ve just read about the book boyfriend I want.”

“Is that so?” Gilbert grinned, taking _Jane Eyre_ from Anne’s hand and tossing it to the floor, his hands finding Anne’s waist and rolling her onto her back, Anne giggling as his chest pressed flush against hers. “Mr Rochester not doing it for you anymore?”

“Who needs Mr Rochester when you can have Gilbert Blythe?”

And Anne curled her fingers into his thick curls and drew him to her, their lips meshing together perfectly; two hearts that made each other whole.

And Anne smiled into the kiss. She had realised something recently. That all the fun happened after the hushed _“I love you”_ and tentative first kisses.

That the adventure only really begins after _“and they all lived happily ever after.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done!
> 
> I hope you have enjoyed this little tale of Anne and Gilbert and that the book references weren't too much!  
> I'm a book nerd with book boyfriend fever so it's easy for me to get carried away.  
> And apologies if you feel like I have 'Netflixed' you with the ending. I hope it's everything you expected it to be!
> 
> Of course, credit to my girls Diana and Winnie for giving these two idiots the push in the right direction that they needed.
> 
> And a little note to you, extra lovely readers:  
> Thank you so much for all the love you have given this chaotic little tale.  
> The support from any comments and kudos left was lovely to receive and so encouraging. This is the first fanfic I have written and all your comments made me feel like I was doing it right when I was doubting myself!  
> And it's been extra lovely chatting to you all!  
> You are all little gems <3
> 
> Now, onto the next one!  
> Love to you all!  
> Becky x
> 
> Ps. I'm on twitter now if anyone would like to find me (not that I'm particularly interesting but I do enjoy a good old-fashioned shirbert breakdown!)  
> Find me:  
> @chaos_in_calm


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